


everything that matters made of glass

by aceofjapan



Series: YOI Angst Week 2020 [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Aristocrat Victor Nikiforov, Ballet Dancer Katsuki Yuuri, Don't copy to another site, Dubious Consent, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Victor Nikiforov, Rating May Change, Sassy Katsuki Yuuri, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Coercion, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, YOI Angst Week 2020, unfairly beautiful yuuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: It was misfortune that brought Victor and Yuuri together.An unexpected summer storm, a broken carriage wheel on a muddy forest road, and only one single inn for miles around.The Earl Nikiforov and his young son had been brought to the Yutopia Inn soaked through, mud soiling their fine clothes, shivering in fabrics too light and delicate to be caught in the rain with.Misfortune had brought Yuuri face to face with Victor, his blue eyes bright and curious even as his fine silver hair stuck to his skin wet and dripping, hands shivering in his embroidered sleeves.Mayhap it was a sign that they should have heeded, their first meeting taking place under such an unlucky star.Mayhap it was an omen, if one believes in such things, for as long as they should know each other, misfortune did not leave their sides.--Written for YOI Angst Week 2020 Day 4 - Separation
Relationships: Christophe Giacometti/Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Original Character(s), Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Victor Nikiforov/Original Male Character(s)
Series: YOI Angst Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044462
Comments: 52
Kudos: 94
Collections: YOI Angst Week 2020





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for Day 4 of YOI Angst Week: **Separation**.
> 
> Thank you to my absolutely lovely beta [ia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescentantelope) for all your help, and to [FromTheInsideOut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheInsideOut/pseuds/FromTheInsideOut) for always listening to me shout about fics.
> 
> About the tags: Okay, this is a big one because this story is all plotted but not all written, and it gets _wild_ at some point. I'm talking fantasy elements cropping up and stuff. I was actually considering making this two parts in a series bc the two parts of the story are so different. But both halves play into each other too much to be able to separate them in any reasonable way. And I don't want to spoil too much, hence choosing not to use archive warnings, but I will be fair and say that _any_ of the four warnings may or may not come into play. Again. Fantasy elements. I will update the additional tags as I go along, at least one chapter in advance.
> 
> Another thing: this fic was originally inspired by the manga Kurobara Alice by Mizushiro Setona, though it has taken quite a turn away from it. But if you know it or look it up, that might give you some idea as to where this is going.
> 
> I'm excited to take this wild ride with you, if you're up for it! If not... I get it, no hard feelings! 💜
> 
> Check out the Angst Week Collection as well as [twitter](http://twitter.com/yoiangstweek) and [tumblr](http://yoiangstweek.tumblr.com/) to see more amazing AW works!

  


It was misfortune that brought Victor and Yuuri together.

An unexpected summer storm, a broken carriage wheel on a muddy forest road, and only one single inn for miles around. 

The Earl Nikiforov and his young son had been brought to the Yutopia Inn soaked through, mud soiling their fine clothes, shivering in fabrics too light and delicate to be caught in the rain with. 

Misfortune had brought Yuuri face to face with Victor, his blue eyes bright and curious even as his fine silver hair stuck to his skin wet and dripping, hands shivering in his embroidered sleeves.

Mayhap it was a sign that they should have heeded, their first meeting taking place under such an unlucky star.

Mayhap it was an omen, if one believes in such things, for as long as they should know each other, misfortune did not leave their sides.

The Earl and his son were welcomed warmly at Yutopia Inn, provided with warm, thick robes and a room where they could change into them, while their clothes were cleaned and dried by the staff. Hot drinks and soft blanket were provided to chase the chill from their limbs lest they catch a cold, and in short order they were kindly invited into the dining room to take their supper.

They were served the best food the Inn’s cook, Yuuri’s father, had to offer, their family special, along with the finest wine in the Katsuki’s meagre store, and a hot, hearty soup at the side to warm their weary bones.

It was not a common occurrence that such high guests should reside at the inn; in fact, nothing of the sort had ever taken place, beloved though the waystation was with travelers passing through and locals from the nearby villages alike. The Katsukis were not prepared to entertain an Earl, someone who was used to the variety and culture that the city had to offer, the luxuries of ballet and theatre and opera. 

The only humble offering that the Yutopia Inn had to give was a performance by their son, Yuuri, whose grace and musicality despite his young age was a point of pride for his parents.

While Yuuri was nervous to perform before the strange, imposing Earl and his beautiful young son, with their striking silver hair and bright blue eyes and their strange manner of speech, he was young enough still to not fully realise the pressure of a performance such as this, and at the same time experienced enough in dancing before the inn’s customers in hopes of a little extra coin.

He danced his best, or close enough to it, so that young Victor was left enchanted by the performance, and the Earl intrigued. The rest of the evening was spent with the boys lost deep in conversation in one corner of the room, and the parents in another.

Victor spoke bright-eyed of the ballet performances he had seen in the city and how the grace with which Yuuri moved had reminded him of the danseurs on stage, while Yuuri patiently answered all his questions about how he was learning from a friend of his mother’s who had once been a prima herself, and demonstrated some of his favourite moves with a shy determination.

The Earl, in the meantime, was involving Yuuri’s parents in quite a different discussion. He had seen quite enough talented performers in his day, rising and falling stars, to recognise that Yuuri’s talent was unusual. Even more so his potential: he was a well-mannered and a pretty child, qualities, he knew, that were at least as important as talent in order to make a star. If given the chance, he knew, Yuuri could rise through the ranks to the very top of the city’s cultural scene, to be a celebrated darling of the ballet. 

But he would not do so by remaining in this inn, in the forest, in the middle of nowhere.

The Earl knew plenty of other aristocrats who took in promising young talents, musicians, singers, performers as well, becoming their patrons and helping them prosper by providing them with plenty of opportunity to learn and the right connections with the right people. Though the Earl was a prolific supporter of the arts and gave generously to the city’s establishments, he had never before seen the need to take on such a protegé of his own.

Yuuri however… Yuuri had caught his attention.

The Earl was an observant man. He could see the places where the inn, while well-kept, was in dire need of repairs. He could see where the rooms needed refurnishing, where the roof needed mending, could see the rough, calloused hands and deeply lined faces of owners who were too used to working too long hours, could see the way in which the children, despite their youth, were well accustomed to serving the inn’s guests. 

He could see that the family had not eaten anywhere as well for supper as he himself and his son had.

If Yuuri came with him to the city, he said, he would receive the very best education that money could pay for, on top of the most excellent dance teachers and choreographers. He would be well-housed and fed and instructed in all the etiquette of high society so as to be able to make his own way in life. He would be able to freely write home of course, and visit, too, when there was time. Once he got his own roles on stage, he could also send money home in order to help his parents’ finances out. The Earl did not ask for any recompense for this; he knew—though he did not tell the Katsukis in so many words—that the prestige and recognition of having discovered and sponsored such a talent would be enough payment in its own right. In the meantime, it would leave the Katsukis with one less hungry mouth to feed, one less charge to look after, and the safety of knowing that their son would lead a better life in the city than they would ever be able to offer him at home.

The Earl could see the hesitance and the worry on the parents’ face as they watched their son demonstrating steps to the young Lord, so much excitement and genuine passion evident on his face. 

When the Katsukis begged leave to talk about it with their son and think the decision over until the Earl was scheduled to leave the inn the next morning, the Earl granted it easily. He had no desire to forcibly tear a child away from his parents. He also knew, if the Katsukis were sensible people—and he believed them to be sensible people, if perhaps a little sentimental—they would make the right decision.

So it happened that come the next morning, with a little knapsack filled with his few possessions, Yuuri took a tearful leave from his parents and his sister. Their guests left them their privacy for long hugs and whispered promises and encouragements, until Yuuri finally boarded the newly mended carriage along with the Earl and his son, leaving the Yutopia Inn to fall away into the distance.


	2. I - hold your horses

“Well, Yuuri, how are your lessons going?”

Yuuri jumped where he was standing in front of a bookshelf, tracing his fingers along the titles printed on the spines of the volumes, head tilted slightly to the side. He pulled his hand back as if had been stuck in the sweets jar rather than exploring the bookshelf and turned around, eyes wide.

“Sorry, sorry”, Victor said with a laugh as he strode further into the room, his riding boots clicking on the polished floorboards. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Oh, uhm”, Yuuri began, his nose scrunching up in thought for a moment, then he bowed stiffly towards Victor. “Good evening, my Lord.”

Victor blinked at him. “Yuuri? What are you doing?”

“Oh”, Yuuri hesitantly lifted his head too look at Victor, slowly like he wasn’t quite certain he was allowed to, “We’ve been going over titles and forms of address. And Mr. Feltsman’s said that I have to bow to everyone with a title and address them in the correct form and… well. You’re the son of an Earl, right?”

Chuckling, Victor stepped closer until he could put his gloved hand on Yuuri’s arm, pulling him fully upright again. “Yuuri!”, he said, “You’ve never needed to do that with me before, why start now?”

Yuuri pulled up his shoulders and grimaced, like he was remembering something unpleasant. “Well, I didn’t know before. I’m sorry! But I’ll do it right from now on!”

Victor shook his head. “You can just call me Victor, Yuuri! Or even Vitya, if you want. We’re friends! And you don’t have to bow to me either, not unless we’re at some formal event.”

“But—”, Yuuri pulled his lower lip between his teeth, “Mr. Feltsman said that it’s very impolite to not use the right form of address. And you… if you’re my friend, I don’t… I don’t want to be impolite to you.”

“No, Yuuri”, Victor said, shaking his head, “it’s not impolite between friends! It’s just a sign of closeness. You know, just like you wouldn’t address your sister as Miss Katsuki, yes?”

Yuuri looked up at him uncertainly, still worrying at his lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure!”, Victor said, throwing his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and leading him toward a sofa in the middle of the room. “I wish that you address me by my first name, as you do among friends, Victor or Vitya, whichever you like best!”

“Alright”, Yuuri said, ducking his head in a nod as they both took a seat, “I… I can do that, Victor.”

“Good”, Victor replied with a smile, “You know, I don’t want you to think of us like that. Yes, you don’t have a title, but… You’re my father’s protegé. You live under the same roof as me, you’re almost the same age, only a year younger. You even have the same tutor! So why shouldn’t we be peers? At least here, in private.”

Yuuri nodded again, slowly, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. His eyes trailed over Victor’s frock. “What are these clothes you’re wearing? I haven’t seen you in any like them before.”

“Ah”, Victor said, reaching up to pluck the hat off his head, “I’ve just come in from my riding lessons! So these are my riding clothes.”

“Riding?”, Yuuri asked, wide-eyed again, “on a horse?”

“Of course!”, Victor said, and then amended, at Yuuri’s open-mouthed stare, “A small one, for now.” His father’s big steeds were still a little too much for him to handle. 

“Is it fun?”

“It is! Well, once you’ve settled into it.” Victor lifted his shoulders. “Have you ever been on a horse?”

He wasn’t surprised when Yuuri shook his head.

“Do you want me to ask father about getting you riding lessons, too? If that’s something you would like?”

Instead of the smile he’d expected, Yuuri’s face darkened. 

“I don’t think I’ll be allowed”, he mumbled, and before Victor could protest, he added, “You know I can’t do anything where I might injure myself. They wouldn’t even let me go skating in the winter.”

“Oh.” Victor hesitated, rubbing his kidskin gloves. He knew Yuuri was likely right; his father and his dance teacher had been very careful to keep Yuuri away from any activities that might hinder his progress in dancing. His father was even wary of letting Yuuri play with Makkachin too much, even though he knew how gentle of a dog she was, despite her size. Still, he put on a smile. “Well, it can’t hurt to ask, anyway! We could ride out together sometime, wouldn’t that be fun?”

Yuuri gave a weak smile. 

“Yes. It would be.”

* * *

Yuuri had been walking stiffly along the hallway, ushered by the governess.

Try as he might, he couldn’t quite get used to the firm, unyielding fabric he was clothed in, the high, tight collar of his shirt and the cravat wrapped around his throat. His trousers were cut much closer to his body than his everyday ones, but without the soft yield of his dance tights. His shoes were stiff and hard, without any give.

But all of this was forgotten when he turned the corner and saw Victor standing at the bottom of the stairs with his father, clad in a magnificent white and gold ensemble, a shimmering cape flowing off his shoulders and collecting in folds around his body like a dress, underneath which Yuuri could see a glimpse of an intricately embroidered waistcoat, the gold thread worked into the fabric glittering in the lamplight as much as Victor’s long silver hair, braided into a delicate design over one shoulder. 

The Earl was dressed in similar attire, matching colours with a somewhat more mature style, but Yuuri barely registered it, could barely tear his eyes away from the glowing vision that was Victor. 

The effect was only enhanced when Victor spotted Yuuri coming down the hallway, and a wide smile spread on his face. 

“Yuuri, there you are!”, he beamed, “Look at you, so handsome!”

Yuuri only just managed not to laugh at the statement. He knew Victor didn’t like it when he talked badly about himself.

“It feels strange”, he said instead, tugging at his sleeves. 

“You’ll get used to it!”, Victor said with a chuckle, smoothing down the fabric of Yuuri’s vest over his shoulders. “I’m excited that you can come with us to this ball! They are usually so boring, but having you there it will be so much more fun!”

Yuuri nodded, still too distracted to answer properly, taking in all the details of Victor’s outfit, his pale skin contrasting with his bright blue eyes, the easy poise with which he carried himself in all those layers of fabric. 

“You look so beautiful.” The words slipped out before Yuuri could hope to hold them back. “Like an angel.”

“Oh.” Victor took a step back and looked down at himself, as if he was noticing his own clothes only now. “I—thank you, Yuuri.” A hint of colour was creeping into his cheeks, making him look even more angelic, but then he laughed and waved Yuuri’s words away.

“If anyone here is an angel, it must be you, Yuuri! With the way you move on the dance floor, as if you’re flying.”

Yuuri shook his head, looking down. 

"No, no", he said, "that's not... I'm just me. I'm nothing special."

"Nonsense", Victor insisted, "You're very special! And now let's stop with this talk and head out, lest we end up being late. Isn't that right, father?"

Victor turned around, looking up at his father who smiled at him approvingly. 

"That's right, Vitya", he said, "as much as some people like to arrive at these functions fashionably late, if you want to show your host respect, you should endeavour to be there on time."

With these words he led the two boys out of the town house where a carriage was already waiting for them. Yuuri climbed up on his seat with a mixture of excitement and apprehension fluttering in his stomach. This was the first society event he was allowed to attend with the Nikiforovs, the first time he had ever been to any kind of event like this. 

The Earl had said that, after more than a year in the city, more than a year of his lessons, Yuuri's grasp of the strictly reglemented etiquette was firm enough that he was allowed to test his skills outside of the classroom. Yuuri was still worried about messing up, about saying something he wasn't supposed to or using the wrong title or forgetting to bow, but both Victor and his Lordship had expressed their confidence that he could do it, so Yuuri would try his best.

It was his chance, his Lordship had said, to make a first good impression with many of the city's notable figures in the arts. As it was a fundraising ball given by Madame Baranovskaya's Ballet Academy, everyone who was anyone in dance would be there. Patrons, directors and choreographers, the city's most famous dancers and of course Madame Baranovskaya herself. It was, in short, an event that no one in Yuuri's position would ever have the slightest chance to attend, if they were not the personal protegé of the Earl Nikiforov. 

Yuuri spent the ride through the city with his hands twisted in his lap, fidgeting, barely listening to Victor telling him about all the wonderful food that was served at these affairs and instead went over the forms of address once more in his head. Mr. Feltsman had reviewed with him the ones he would most likely need during the course of the night, judging by the list of attendants, but even if Yuuri knew the correct way to address a Duke, how should he know whether the person standing before him in that moment was a Duke or a Marquess? He knew he would be introduced by the Earl to anyone he was supposed to speak to, thus providing him with the title, but still Yuuri couldn't help fretting. 

Despite the fact that the clothes his Lordship had bought for Yuuri specifically for this event were the finest that he had ever worn, Yuuri felt quite inadequate next to Victor and his father in their finery. And once they reached the venue, this feeling was only solidified in him. Everywhere around there were men and women in elaborate coats and tails, gowns and dresses, in glittering gold and silver and delicate pastel tones. The dresses with their slim, flowing silhouettes and their intricate embroidered designs, the tails with their sharp, clean lines in contrast... there wasn't a person here who didn't look beautiful and untouchable and carried their status with confidence.

Yuuri, on the other hand... his light shirt, dark trousers and dark blue waistcoat were of fine quality, the subtly patterned deep red cloth of his cravat complimenting his eyes, according to the governess, but.. there was no doubt that Yuuri would be immediately recognised as what he was at this event: an outsider.

Yuuri stuck close by Victor's side as they made their way from the carriage to the entrance and inside the hall, and Victor seemed to notice his nerves, giving him a reassuring smile. Yuuri knew they had to keep their distance here in public; it wouldn't do for them to appear too close, and he would have to address Victor as My Lord, too, when there were others around. He did not particularly like it, but he did not want to reflect badly on the Nikiforovs, who had done so much for him.

Walking through the still gathering crowds just a step behind Victor and his father, Yuuri tried his best to pay attention to their surroundings, take note of the people who bowed to the Earl as they passed, who he nodded to in return. There were so many of them, and yet everyone seemed to know instinctively what to do, how to react, while Yuuri was just trying to not let himself be overwhelmed by all the people, all the noise and sensory impressions. Everyone seemed to recognise the Earl and his son on sight without a doubt, and Yuuri couldn't help but notice that many cast curious glances at him, too.

Some, he assumed, had already heard about him, judging by the way they whispered or smiled amongst themselves when they saw him. Others looked more openly surprised or intrigued, and Yuuri tried to resist the temptation to pull up his shoulders, curl in on himself. Poise and confidence, his dance teacher had said, was what set you apart from the crowd. People would not care about where you were from, as long as you could hold an interesting conversation and look graceful while doing it. Yuuri wasn't quite sure he believed it, but nonetheless he tried as he could to fall into the upright, self-assured posture he had been trained to assume on stage.

He tried to hold on to this poise as he was introduced to aristocracy, dancers and other people working in dance, bowing and smiling and shaking hands when it was offered to him. His Lordship never failed to emphasise his talent and hard work when he introduced Yuuri as his protegé, and though it never quite failed to make Yuuri blush with embarrassment, he knew he was not supposed to contradict him. Instead he patiently answered questions about his training and when he first started dancing, and promised to keep working hard.

Of course, not everyone's reaction was entirely positive; some of the older dancers he was introduced to shot him doubtful glances, something sour in their faces. In other people's voices he could hear their condescension, could feel in every one of their words that they were just humouring him. It made his stomach churn. It was these moments in particular that made him wish Victor was next to him, but he had wandered off in search of refreshments a little while ago, and now Yuuri could see him occasionally in another corner of the room, talking to other children their age, while Yuuri was still shepherded around the room by the Earl.

It wasn't that Yuuri didn't appreciate all His Lordship was doing for him; he did, truly. But speaking to all these strangers, having to mind his Sirs and Madams and pay attention at all time was wearing him out, and he found himself longing for a break. Sometimes he would be granted a break of sorts, when one of the people he was introduced to heard of his aspirations asked him to dance. Though it was nerve-wracking in its own way, it allowed him to work off some of his nervous energy. Ballroom dancing was something he had always enjoyed, and it required less focus than ballet, certainly less focus than navigating his way through conversations with all these people.

He had learned to lead and to follow, and he left the choice up to his partners. Some of the women seemed delighted to be easily led around the dance floor by a young man that barely reached their shoulders. Others seemed eager to jump at the chance of leading. The men usually prefered to lead, though sometimes they surprised him. Yuuri didn't mind either way; besides, he barely dared to speak without the Earl's direct oversight, let alone tell his partners whether they should lead or follow.

Perhaps, despite his best efforts, his apprehension had shown on his face, because one lady slightly squeezed his shoulder as he led her over the dance floor. 

"Don't worry", she murmured with a smile, "You're doing well!" 

Yuuri looked up at her, surprised. She was middle-aged, fine lines etched into the skin around her eyes, and her smile was wide, painted lips stretched around bright teeth. The generous folds of her skirt swirled around their legs with every turn. 

"It's your first time at one of these events, yes?", she asked, when Yuuri did not find any words to reply. He nodded slowly.

"Well, you're doing just fine! You'll get used to it soon enough." She glanced around the the people surrounding them, "I'm sure it's intimidating now, but... most of them are decent people, really, judgemental though they may seem at first."

When Yuuri still looked up at her, wide-eyed, she gave him a conspiratorial grin, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. 

"I wasn't born into this either, you know? My father was a country solicitor, and I married into my husband's family years ago." She chuckled. "And you're a natural, with that grace of yours? Oh, give it a few more years, darling, and you'll be right in your element."

Yuuri inclined his head in a nod. "Thank you", he murmured back.

"Don't mention it, darling. You know, we were all so intrigued to hear that His Lordship had taken on a protegé. He's so exacting, someone who catches his attention must be someone quite special indeed, we thought." 

Lifting her hand from his shoulder for a moment, she tapped under his chin, making him look up at her, another wide smile on her face. "And looking at that sweet face of yours, I think we were quite right. And those lips... I'm sure the girls and boys are after you already, no? Well, if not then they will be soon."

She dropped her hand, running it down Yuuri's arm, and Yuuri suppressed a shiver as he looked away from her intense gaze as soon as he could.

"A dancer's physique won't hurt either, I'm sure, you know... once you've grown into that body of course. I quite look forward to seeing it." 

She squeezed Yuuri's upper arm, not painfully, but firmly, just as the song ended and Yuuri stepped quickly back, out of her hold. Over her shoulder he could see that the Earl was deeply immersed in a conversation, his back turned towards Yuuri. He bowed quickly and forced a smile onto his face. 

"Thank you for this dance", he pressed out, a little breathless, "If you would excuse me..."

"Of course", she said, with a smile that made Yuuri itch, "I look forward to repeating the experience soon."

With another quick nod Yuuri hurried away through the crowd, hoping to use this chance to find Victor again. He couldn’t quite help the shudder that ran over him once he was sure he was out of the woman’s sight. He could still feel her touch on his chin, his arms, and it felt uncomfortable on his skin. He didn’t quite understand why; dancing always involved touching your partner, being in close physical proximity to them. But none of his other dances tonight had left him with quite that same nauseated feeling.

He felt a little bad—he was sure the woman only tried to be friendly, to put him at ease, perhaps. Just wanted to pay him some compliments. But by the end had hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough.

He weaved his way through the crowd toward the corner where he had last seen Victor, hoping that he might still be there now. He really just wanted to see a friendly face, and it wasn’t like the Earl wasn’t friendly, but… the Earl couldn’t see him like this. So… discomposed. Unbalanced. Yuuri needed to show him that he could handle this.

Finally Yuuri spotted the shimmering white and gold of Victor’s cape through the crowd, quickening his step a little more to get to him. Victor was standing, leaning casually against a wall, looking more relaxed than Yuuri had ever seen him, except maybe that night they had first met, at the Yutopia Inn. He was talking with two other boys around their age, one standing, one sitting. They were laughing, and Victor was gesturing broadly, mirth in his eyes as well. He looked so natural there, so at ease. Like he belonged.

Which he did, Yuuri realised. This was where Victor belonged. Yuuri was the only one here who was out of place.

Sure, not everyone at this event was nobility. There were plenty of commoners too, the dancers, many of the people involved with the theatres and opera houses. But all of them had done something to deserve their attendance at this event. To earn it. Except for Yuuri—Yuuri, who had just had the sheer luck of being in the right place at the right time when the Earl’s carriage just happened to break down.

There was nothing deserved about his being here, and everyone could tell just from looking at him. Seeing Victor and the other two boys in their finery, all of them glittering and perfect, Yuuri felt it sink deep into his heart.

Even with all the gifts he had so generously received from the Earl, Yuuri was nothing compared to Victor and his peers. Without all those gifts, Yuuri was less.

Still frozen a few meters away, Yuuri way trying to decide what he should do now, when there was nowhere he cold go and be wanted. But before he could come to a decision, Victor happened to look up and see him, rooted to the spot as he was. His face lit up with a smile and he waved Yuuri closer, and Yuuri was unable to do anything but obey. After all, what else could he do? Turn and walk away? 

No; it was impossible. He stepped forward automatically, until he was within speaking distance. 

“Yuuri!” Victor grinned. “Did my father finally let you off?”

“Uhm, I”, Yuuri began, swallowing, “I sort of slipped away.”

Victor laughed. “Good for you! I’m sorry I left you alone out there, but it was just so dull.”

Before Yuuri could open his mouth to dismiss Victor’s apology, Victor already went on. “Yuuri, meet Christophe Giacometti, son of the Baron Giacometti”, he gestured toward the fair-haired boy standing next to him, watching Yuuri with bright eyes, “and Georgi Popovich, son of Sir Aleksander Popovich”, he continued, gesturing toward the boy sitting, with dark hair and a more serious expression. “Chris, Gosha, this is Yuuri Katsuki.”

Yuuri bowed carefully to both of them, even as Christophe was already approaching him, hand extended for Yuuri to shake. 

“A pleasure, Yuuri”, he said, his smile wide and friendly, “Victor has been telling us so much about you!”

“He has?”, Yuuri asked, tentatively taking Christophe’s hand, who shook it enthusiastically, and flicking his gaze between Christophe and Victor, trying to read something in their expressions. 

“Certainly”, Christophe replied, “It appears you’ve been providing quite the diversion in the Nikiforov house this last year.”

Victor laughed. “You don’t have to say it like that, Chris!”, he said, and, turning to Yuuri, added: “I’ve just been telling them how good it’s been to have you in the house. You know, someone my own age. And how terribly dull it was in the winter when we were in the country.”

“I see”, Yuuri said and licked his lips, trying to think of anything more to say. Out of the phrases he had learned were appropriate for casual conversation, none seemed quite fitting. “Well”, he finally settled on, “I do try my best to be pleasant company.”

It made Christophe laugh for some reason, but Victor frowned, stepping closer to Yuuri. 

“Are you quite alright, Yuuri?”, he asked, voice low. “No one has been rude to you, have they?”

“No, no, not at all”, Yuuri said, “E-everyone’s been very pleasant.” When Victor’s frown didn’t smooth out, he added, barely more than a murmur, “It’s just a bit overwhelming, is all.”

Victor nodded thoughtfully. “I understand”, he said, “it can be quite a lot.” He thought for a moment, then brightened up. “How about if we dance? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Yuuri felt a small smile tugging on his lips and nodded in relief. “Yeah”, he said, “that sounds good.”

* * *

Waltzing across the dance floor with Victor felt easy. It felt effortless.

Victor was a very good dancer, and they were matched fairly evenly in height, with Victor being just a few centimeters taller than Yuuri. They moved with the music naturally, weaving through all the couples taller than them, not bothering with any fancy turns and twists, just letting the melody carry them.

Thankfully, Victor did not feel the need to fill the quiet between them with chatter. They danced in silence, but Yuuri could see from the look on Victor’s face that he was enjoying himself.

Yuuri would have happily spent the rest of the evening like this, but it was not to be; after only a couple of songs, the Earl approached them from the edge of the dancefloor.

“There you are”, he said, “I have been looking for you, Yuuri!”

“Oh”, Yuuri said, dipping his head in apology, “I was just—I was just dancing with V—with Lord Victor.”

“I can see that”, the Earl said with a little huff, “but you will have plenty of time to dance with Victor later. For now, there is someone you need to meet. We should not let this opportunity pass.”

He turned and walked away, Yuuri following with a regretful look back at Victor, who, as Yuuri noted with some relief, trailed after them curiously.

It wasn’t long before they stopped, Yuuri almost walking into the Earl before him, hurrying to catch himself and quickly regain his balance. Before him stood a tall, thin, imposing looking woman with sharp eyes and her hair tied back in a severe bun. She bowed politely to his Lordship as he came to a stop before her, uttering a greeting. 

The Earl gave her a friendly nod. 

“Madame Baranovskaya”, he said, “what a lovely event you’ve put together here. It’s been really rather enjoyable.”

Yuuri stared up at the woman before him, sharp gaze and sharper cheekbones, hands clasped primly before her, pale skin standing out starkly against her deep green gown. So this was Madame Baranovskaya, the woman of whom everyone in the dance scene spoke with awe, the director of the city’s most prestigious dance academy. The academy that should be, this much had Yuuri already learned, his ultimate goal if he wanted to get anywhere in ballet.

“I don’t think you have met my protegé, have you?”, the Earl was now saying, gesturing for Yuuri to step forward as he’d done with all the other people he had introduced Yuuri too, except that this time, he clapped a friendly hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Discovered him out east, in a charming little inn run by his family. He’s been with us for a little over a year now. Very talented.”

Madame Baranovskaya turned her eyes on him, and Yuuri dipped into a polite little bow, despite the fact that she was not nobility.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madame”, he said, and she pursed her lips. 

“Ah yes, I had heard of your little project, My Lord.” She ran her eyes over Yuuri, considering, assessing, and did not say anything more for a long moment.

“Well”, his Lordship said, “You should see him when he dances sometime. It is quite the thing to behold from one so young.”

Madame Baranovskaya clicked her tongue. “Yes, I saw him on the dance floor just now”, she said, “his musicality is decent, but his posture is barely acceptable and his movements sloppy.”

Yuuri tried not to flinch at her words, not at the sharp gace still fixed on her. He could feel Victor’s presence just behind him, and wasn’t quite sure if it was a comfort or an additional humiliation.

“Say, boy, where did you say you learned?”

“Ah, I’ve been having him train with the best teachers the city has to offer”, the Earl cut in, “outside of your own respected establishment, of course.”

Madame shook her head, making his Lordship fall silent, her eyes still trained on Yuuri.

“Where did you learn?”, she asked again.

Yuuri swallowed against a dry throat. “I’ve trained with Minako Okukawa before I came to the city, Madame.”

Madame Baranovskaya nodded, short and sharp. “Yes. I remember her. A talented prima in her day. Her musicality was good. However, she did not have a lacklustre posture and sloppy movements. You have a lot left to learn, boy.”

“Yes, Madame”, Yuuri whispered, looking down, eyes fixed on her perfectly manicured hands.

“Now, now”, the Earl spoke up again, “some waltzing at an event like this, I should think, is hardly representative of his skill. I’m sure if he performed for you, you would be able to really see his talent.”

“I never said the boy wasn’t talented”, Madame Baranovskaya said, and Yuuri’s gaze snapped up. She was regarding his Lordship with a raised eyebrow. “There is certainly one thing he excels in more than you: he doesn’t try to make excuses and instead humbly accepts his flaws for what they are. That’s the only way to learn.”

She turned her eyes on Yuuri again, who barely kept himself from jumping. 

“Am I to assume, young man, that you are aiming to learn at my academy?”

“Y-yes, Madame.”

“Not this autumn, I presume?”

“No, Madame”, he said, “Next year.”

Right now, Yuuri was still too young to be accepted into the Academy, but his Lordship and Yuuri’s dance teachers had already determined that he would apply as soon as possibly, so that he would have the chance to improve and try again the next year should he be rejected. The window for a dancer to be accepted into Madame Baranovskaya’s Academy was small, and while it wasn’t the only dance academy in the city, it was certainly the best.

“Well, young Mr. Katsuki, you had better work hard on yourself in the interim, then. Work on your forms, mind your posture, and continue to hone that musicality of yours. If you do, then…”, she paused, and her mouth appeared to curl up at the corners just ever so slightly, “I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t consider you, when the time comes.”

A tense breath rushed out of Yuuri, and he wanted to slump in relief. Instead, mindful of his posture, he bowed again to Madame Baranovskaya, a little deeper than before. 

“Thank you, Madame!”, he said, “I will continue to work hard!”

“See that you do”, she said, and with a chuckle from the Earl and a handshake shared between them, his Lordship led Yuuri away. 

Yuuri had not yet had time to calm his nervously pounding heart when he felt Victor‘s hand on his arm, squeezing him gently, just for a moment.

“That was good“, he whispered, excitement in every suppressed syllable, "Did you hear? She liked you!“

Yuuri cast a doubtful look over his shoulder as the Earl still directed him towards a quieter corner of the room, but Victor behind him looked at him bright-eyed, wide-eyed, a smile on his face.

"No, really“, he added, "Madame is notoriously strict, if she had anything at all positive to say about you… if she even said you might make it into the Academy… that‘s amazing!“

Yuuri bit his lip, not quite certain how the fact that his—hopefully—future teacher was famously strict and had barely a good thing to say about anyone was good news.

But his Lordship, once they had made it to a quieter free space where they stopped, nodded. 

"It could have gone much worse, considering“, he said, "but make sure to work hard on yourself in the interim. It won‘t do to rest on your laurels now if you want to make it to the Academy.“

"Yes, your Lordship“, Yuuri said, trying to find any excitement in between all the trepidation in his chest. 

Somehow he didn‘t feel like he had any laurels to rest on.


	3. II - hold the border

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna put relevant CW in the end notes of each chapter, so you can check them if you want but people can still avoid spoilers if they'd prefer. So. **CW for this chapter in the end notes.**

“Vitya!”

The excited shout, followed in short order by steps hurriedly running up the staircase, made Victor smile as he looked up from his school work and turned around to face the door to his study.

He knew, there were not many subjects that would provoke such excitement from the boy who was usually so reserved, so serious—unless they got to talking about dance.

The door burst open few seconds later, Yuuri flying inside, even in his haste still graceful down to every line of his body, light-footed and controlled. The dark strands of his hair, which had been growing longer lately, swaying around his face, his cheeks flushed from the exercise, he beamed. Even now, though, in all his excitement, he did not refrain from dipping down into he quickest bow before straightening up.

“I got in!”, he exclaimed, “Madame Baranovskaya’s Academy! They took me on!”

Victor felt a grin spreading easily on his face. It was not hard for him to believe; he had always been sure that Yuuri’s talents would take him to high places. As Victor pushed up from his chair, Yuuri rushed forward as well, eagerly throwing himself into Victor’s offered embrace.

“They would have been fools not to”, Victor murmured as he squeezed Yuuri in a tight hug, “and from what I know of Madame Baranovskaya, she is not a fool.”

Victor could feel Yuuri’s chuckle against his own chest, breathy with relief.

“Congratulations, Yuuri”, he went on, voice dropping even further, “I’m proud of you.”

Pulling back a little from their embrace, Yuuri dipped his head a little, bashful, but the smile on his face was radiant.

“Thank you”, he whispered, “I couldn’t have done it without you and your father. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it but… thank you.”

Victor laughed and waved his words off with a wave of his hands, the best way he knew to deal with these earnest moods of Yuuri’s.

“Save your Thank Yous for when you are sore and miserable after a hard day’s training at the Academy”, he said with a grin, “I want to hear you thank me then.”

Victor did not get any more Thank Yous from Yuuri in the next few months after that, if only because he hardly got to see him any more at all.

Victor had gotten so used to Yuuri being there in the house at all times, even if they were both wrapped up in their own lessons and obligations, that it was strange to not have him around.

No longer would Victor run into him in the halls as they went from room to room between lessons—Victor from Latin to Piano, Yuuri from Etiquette to French; Victor from Economy to Riding, Yuuri from Art History to Dance.

No longer would they take their meals together in between, no longer would they find each other in the garden getting some fresh air on a break.

While Yuuri had already been taking most of his Dance lessons outside of the Nikiforov town house, in the studios of his ballet teacher and ballroom tutor in the city, he had still always returned to the house after his lessons, had spent the majority of his time under the same roof as Victor.

Now, though, he was at the Baranovskaya Academy almost every second of every day. Dance lessons took up almost all of his day, his other classes were reduced to once a week.

Victor supposed he should count himself lucky that Yuuri still returned to the house at all—the Academy had dorm rooms available for those students who came in from outside the city, but Yuuri, having the good fortune of a residence in fairly close proximity, could return to his own room every night.

But even then hours at the Academy were long, even longer, Victor suspected, than the actual schedule called for. He wasn‘t entirely sure if Yuuri was kept longer by the teachers or if he stayed in the studios after class of his own accord—Yuuri was always a bit vague about it when asked.

When once pressed on whether he wasn‘t overexerting himself, Yuuri had shaken his head with conviction.

„The other students in the dorms have access to the studios at all hours of the day, even at night and on those days when I‘m not at the Academy at all“, he‘d said. “I can‘t fall behind.“

„So“, Victor had hardly dared ask, „do you think it would be better for you, then, if you stayed at the dorms, too?“

Yuuri had shrugged his shoulders.

„I don‘t know, no… I think…“, his face had twisted into a grimace before he‘d said, „I like coming back here in the evening. It‘s familiar, you know. Safe.“

Still Victor couldn‘t help but miss the time that he was once able to spend with Yuuri, now reduced to an occasional Sunday lunch and a few sentences exchanged in entrance halls. Admittedly, his own schedule was not faultless in this; now that Victor was growing up, he, too, was taking on more responsibilities, learning how to take care of his father‘s estate and all the duties that would be his once he became the Earl Nikiforov.

He took his task seriously, tried his utmost to live up to his father‘s good example. From a young age he had learned how many people depended on the estate for their livelihoods, and Victor did not want to be the one to let them down. So he paid attention in his lessons, listened to his father‘s advice, traveled with him when there was business to be taken care of in the country, even with the solicitors and banks in the city.

It was hard work, and not exciting. How much more Victor would have liked to hear about all the things that Yuuri must be experiencing on the daily, all that beauty and passion of the dance world.

He didn‘t have any illusions of Yuuri‘s work being any less gruelling or demanding than his own, but at least, he reasoned, the genuine love for the subject matter must make it so much easier to bear.

The most difficult times for Victor to bear were without a doubt the ones when they traveled to the Petersburg estate in the countryside, leaving the city behind for days and weeks at a time, sometimes months, in the winter when the season was out in the city.

It wasn‘t that Victor disliked the estate or the countryside, nor did he mind spending the time with his father. But spending so much time away from the city and all its life and intensity, all its culture, going for so long without seeing Yuuri or having any news from him…

They had attempted to write letters in order to stay in touch during these long absences before, but Yuuri rarely managed to return Victor‘s correspondence. Victor didn‘t blame him for it, he knew Yuuri‘s schedule left him nary a minute to sit down and write letters, and he knew how torn up about it Yuuri was whenever Victor returned to the city once again without Yuuri having written back to him.

But still there was something empty about those weeks spent without Yuuri‘s presence in his life.

Something lonely.

Victor wasn‘t quite certain how he had grown so attached to that scrawny little boy who had danced for them in a dim inn on a stormy summer night.

They were not close like brothers, despite having spent so many years of their childhood under the same roof; they had never been allowed to grow as close as that, a distance between them having to be maintained for propriety‘s sake.

Victor‘s father, with the aid of his teachers and governess, had made certain that Victor never forgot his position in life. And while Yuuri was treated kindly and never looked down upon or berated for his humble progeny, it was made just as certain that he knew being Nikiforov‘s protegé did not make him a Nikiforov.

Nonetheless Victor could not envision his life now without that quiet, humble and utterly passionate presence in his home, that boy who would share his meals and his playroom, his tutor but not his lessons, his home but not his name, who would sit next to him at the breakfast table and yet not be allowed to call him by his first name in polite company.

* * *

Yuuri was shaking as he pushed open the door to the Baranovskaya Academy. It wasn't the first time that he entered the building—he had been here before a few weeks ago for his registration, and then again for the official event starting off the school year just a few days prior. But both times he had been accompanied by the Earl, the latter by Victor, too, and now he was alone. The wide entrance hall of white marble, echoing with his sole footsteps, somehow seemed so much more imposing now.

He pulled a small packet of papers out of his bag for what felt like the hundredth time, double checking again which room he was expected in. All the new students had been told which studios and classrooms they would be using during the inaugural event, but Yuuri just wanted to make extra sure he would not end up in the wrong room, or be late for his first class.

Taking a left from the entrance hall, he walked down a corridor which was not quite so deserted, other students lingering about here and there, casting curious glances at Yuuri as he passed. He was sure they could all pick him out as a new student—while the Academy was large in size due to all the generous dance studios it housed, the number of students was small, only a dozen perhaps for each of the four years, depending on how many applicants Madame Baranovskaya deemed worthy. Surely the students all knew each other then, and Yuuri, along with the other first years, would immediately stand out to them by virtue of being unfamiliar.

Yuuri bit his lip and tried not to meet anyone's eyes, tried not to let their gazes weigh on him. He hurried down the corridor towards the room indicated on his forms, only looking up on occasion to check the numbers indicated next to the doors that he passed on his way. If he made it to his classroom at least there they would all be equally unfamiliar to each other and to their surroundings.

The room was almost empty when Yuuri arrived--he had made sure to arrive in plenty of time, in case he got lost--with only three people looking up at him in their various seats when Yuuri entered. They were vaguely familiar to him from the induction, or perhaps the auditions, and he nodded hesitantly at them as he entered the room, and carefully selected a seat that wasn't too close to any of them, just as they had apparently previously done.

The wooden chair creaked under his weight as he sat down, loud in the awkwardly quiet classroom, and Yuuri hugged his arms around his bag, trying not to move.

Over the next fifteen minutes or so, more students trickled into the rooms in ones and twos, some of them who obviously already knew each other, chatting easily, lifting the oppressive atmosphere somewhat, though the rest of the students still kept to themselves, silent in their chairs.

Madame Baranovskaya herself entered the room at exactly the time appointed for their class, the steps of her heeled shoes echoing along the hallway long before she arrived, making everyone sit up a little straighter in their seats. She swept a quick look over them as she entered and gave a quick satisfied nod, seeing that they were all present.

"Welcome to Baranovskaya Academy", she said, her voice not loud but firm and carrying easily in the small classroom. "We will lose no more words about the privilege that it is for you to be here and study at my school. We have lost plenty of words on it the weekend last. All of you here have proven in your auditions that you deserve that privilege, and you will continue to prove that you deserve that privilege from here on out.

She paused, and a few of the students gave nods ranging from tentative to determined.

"This is your classroom", Madame Baranovskaya then continued. "Ballet is a discipline of practice. As such, you will spend most of your time in the studios, honing your skills. However, ballet is also a discipline with a rich history and plentiful theory supporting it. In this classroom, you will take your lessons in History of Dance, Music Theory, Anatomy and Nutrition. Your knowledge of French should be sufficient at this time that the History of Dance and Music Theory classes being conducted in French should be of no detriment to you. If it is not, I strongly advise you to remedy this."

Some students shifted uncomfortably in their seats at these words, and Yuuri, too, felt his mouth run dry. He had spent the summer honing his French with his tutor as best he could, but he still wasn't certain his skills were sufficient to understand these classes.

"You will gather in this room before your morning practice once a week", Madame continued, "the other days you will go directly to the studio indicated on your schedule. You will be on time and changed into your gear by the time indicated. After morning practice you will have lunch, which you will take in the refectory, and you will only have the meals provided by the refectory. After lunch you will return here for your lessons, and thence to your evening practice."

Her gaze swept once more over the students seated, most of them staring down at their desks, some of the braver ones meeting her gaze.

"It is your fortune that your first morning practice will be conducted by me. I am expecting you in the Carnation Studio in your gear in ten minutes sharp. You are dismissed."

There was a moment of hesitation, and then the collective scrape of chairs under Madame's expectant gaze, as the students hurried to gather their things and scramble out of the classroom. Yuuri, too, grabbed his bag tighter and hurried down the hall with the rest of them, in search of the Carnation Studio and the changing room attached to it. He could feel his nerves building the closer he got. Not only would his skills once again be judged by Madame Baranovskaya herself, he would also have to compare directly to the rest of the students. As far as he'd been able to tell from the looks of them, Yuuri was one of the younger students in the class, though sometimes it was difficult to judge, and Yuuri was sure he would make a fool out of himself.

He knew Madame's reputation for being entirely impartial and, despite her strictness, entirely fair, but sometimes Yuuri still couldn't help but doubt. Ever since he had gotten his acceptance letter from the Academy, there had been a small voice at the back of his head, wondering if his meeting with Madame back at that ball had anything to do with his acceptance. There was just no way he had measured up against all those other dancers who were sure to have applied for a spot, not unless the name Nikiforov had somehow tipped the scales in his favour. And if that was the case, then surely it would become painfully obvious once he danced among all the other students who had earned their spots fair and square.

Fighting down his urge to run away, Yuuri forced himself to enter the changing room, picking out an empty spot for himself and his bag. The changing rooms were mixed, the students all busying themselves with changing into their gear with their backs turned to one another, so Yuuri pulled open his own bag with shaking fingers, and did the same.

It got easier once they were in the studio.

Though it wasn't one that Yuuri had been in before, it was the familiar ground of any studio: mirrors along two walls, a barre stretching the length of them, an even, polished dance floor inviting movement. Some of the students who were already out when Yuuri entered the studio were stretching along the walls and on the floor, so Yuuri did the same, picking an empty spot toward the back and carefully stretching out his muscles. He was quite sure they would start with stretches anyways, but it never hurt to limber up.

Yuuri was deep into a side split, his forearms resting on the floor, forehead resting on his hands, when he heard soft steps approaching and halting next to him. Turning his head he peered up, seeing another student looking down at him, a friendly grin on her face. She was one of the students Yuuri remembered from the auditions, with long, slender legs and reddish brown hair.

"Is that spot free?", she asked, indicating a free area next to Yuuri, and Yuuri nodded, turning his head down again and breathing through the stretch before slowly easing his body up again.

The girl was sitting with her legs stretched out before her, hands wrapped around the soles of her feet, but she looked up when Yuuri straightened. She smiled at him again when their eyes met, and it seemed to come so easy to her. “I’m Yuuko”, she said. "Yuuko Toyomura, but you can just call me Yuuko. If you want."

"Uhm… I'm Yuuri Katsuki", Yuuri replied with a small smile, waiting for a moment to see if anything else was expected from him. But Yuuko just continued her stretching and, after a moment, so did Yuuri.

Madame Baranovskaya entered the studio soon after, clapping them all to attention before walking them through basic stretches and forms. Her tone was just as harsh and expectant as it had been in the classroom, and the regimen was brutal in its speed and complexity, but Yuuri tried to keep his head down, his focus up and follow along as best he could. Yuuko stuck close to him throughout, and Yuuri didn’t mind it much when they ended up doing partner stretches together. At least she didn’t try to chatter during class and distract Yuuri, though on occasion they shared a suffering look when Madame barked another command at the class.

They both made it through the morning practice without any major criticisms from Madame Baranovskaya, which was a relief and more than could be said for some of the other students. But Yuuri was already sore to the bones by the time they all returned to the changing room, and judging by the collective groans and sighs as they changed back into their regular clothes, he wasn’t the only one. He was not quite sure how he was supposed to make it through another practice that evening.

He was surprised to see Yuuko waiting for him outside the changing room, looking up when Yuuri emerged, bag slung over his shoulder.

“You want to go to the refectory together?”, she asked, and Yuuri shrugged.

“Sure”, he murmured, and followed Yuuko’s lead down the hall.

The food they were served for their lunch was unimaginative but well-prepared, a healthy balance to keep up their energy for the rest of the day. Over their plates Yuuri and Yuuko talked, although it might have been more accurate to say that Yuuko talked while Yuuri offered occasional comments, and he learned that Yuuko was from the east too, but her parents were well to do merchants that had hired a private dance tutor for her when her talent became apparent. Since her home town was several days’ travel away from the city, she was staying in the dormitories of the Academy for the duration of her training.

Yuuri, in turn, tried to answer Yuuko’s questions as well as he could, though he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat under her wide-eyed stare when Yuuri explained that he’d been taken in by an Earl who had seen him dance and wanted to support his talents. He didn’t quite know how to explain that it really wasn’t quite so impressive as it sounded.

After their brief lunch break, the class returned to their classroom for History of Dance and Nutrition, and the former in particular was a challenge; the teacher did indeed conduct the entire class in French, though she did make sure to speak slowly and clearly at least at the beginning, a small mercy that Yuuri was thankful for. Yuuri managed to follow along with most of the material, especially the dance related terms, to his relief, which had featured heavily in his own french classes up until that point, but it was trying to focus on a language that wasn’t his own for a whole hour and try to parse the complex sentences the teachers threw at them.

He scribbled down notes in his own language as quickly as he could, hoping that he wasn’t missing anything important, and when he dared to take a moment to look around the classroom, more than a few people appeared to be rather lost. Nutrition, by comparison, was a lot less trying, though by this point Yuuri could definitely feel the tiredness settle in, his concentration starting to flag.

He was almost relieved when they were ushered into the dance studio for the second time, though his body protested the exertion, he was quite happy to give his mind a break and just let his body move of its own accord, bypassing his brain. A different teacher was with them this time, and their practice was a bit freer, focusing more on choreography than the strict forms and stretches. Nonetheless Yuuri was ready to collapse at the end of the day, when they were finally released from the confines of the Academy.

As everyone was changing their clothes once more Yuuri could hear some of the students who lived in the dorms making plans to head to the refectory together for dinner, but he just kept his head down, stuffed his clothes in his bag, and hurried out of the room. He knew he’d have to eat to replenish his energy, and there would likely be dinner waiting for him when he returned to the townhouse, but in all honesty all Yuuri wanted to do was drop into bed and fall asleep immediately.

The subsequent days, weeks and months of Yuuri’s life went rather similar to that first day at the Academy. Two practices per day, with different teachers focusing on different aspects of dance—flexibility, positions, jumps, choreography—interspersed with theory classes. There was one day of rest a week, which became half a day with Yuuri’s additional etiquette and French classes from his tutors, and it was not nearly enough to recover from the gruelling demands of his schedule. More often than not he crashed into bed right after dinner, barely able to spend a minute talking to Victor before his eyelids were heavy and drooping. His muscles were in a constant state of soreness, and his meals never seemed to be quite able to sate his hunger, despite the fact that they were adjusted to compensate for his increased energy expenditure now.

But despite all of that… Yuuri didn’t hate it. Quite the opposite, actually—he loved the dancing, and, it turned out, he was good at it. He tried not to compare himself actively to the other students in his glass, tried to keep his eyes fixed at his own reflection in the mirror when they went through their positions, trying to pick out any flaws in his posture, any deficiencies in his movements, and as time went on, he could find less and less of them. He could see himself improving, right there in that mirror that had become his daily companion, could see the way he honed his skills until Madame Baranovskaya and the other teachers had barely a critical word to say to him.

His muscles were building, too, as much as his prepubescent body could, making him lean and wiry, preparing himself for more powerful jumps and lifts. By an unspoken agreement Yuuri and Yuuko had found themselves pairing off together more often than not, as most of the other students had found a companion that they usually paired up with. Yuuko was easy-going as a person, but a hard-working dancer. She was friendly and talkative, but she didn’t seem to mind the occasional silence between them, never expected Yuuri to talk when he didn’t feel like it. Yuuri’s hands soon learned just how to lift, hold and turn Yuuko as they made their way through the choreography.

Outside of Yuuko, however, Yuuri rarely spoke to his classmates. No one really attempted to talk to him and he was certainly not the type to seek them out. A few times when a group of them had gone out to a pub after evening training he’d gone along, or sat with them for lunch at the refectory, and he listened to their conversations as he picked his way through his meal, but he had never quite found a way to actively participate.

He answered any question he was asked, and he tried to be friendly, but he couldn’t shake that creeping feeling at the back of his head that they were looking down on him, that he was making a fool of himself. So he mostly kept his head down and quietly dedicated himself to his training.

The day came when Yuuri was sitting alone at a table in the refectory, Yuuko having excused herself to run back to the dormitory during the lunch break in order to pick up her class notes that she’d forgotten. Yuuri looked up in between bites when the chair opposite him moved, thinking that perhaps Yuuko had made it back quicker than anticipated, but instead another student was taking the seat, grinning at Yuuri as he set down his tray. Yuuri didn’t recognise him, so he wasn’t from his own class, and he did look a bit older, his back broader, face more angular.

Yuuri froze, looking up at him, unsure what, if anything, was expected of him.

The other boy’s grin didn’t waver.

“Hope you don’t mind if I join you”, he said, “you were looking quite lonely over here by yourself.”

Yuuri shook his head, then remembered his manners and cleared his throat. “No, I don’t mind”, he said, “Please.”

The other picked up his cutlery and tucked into his food, and Yuuri too directed his attention at his luncheon again.

“So”, his new companion said after a while around a mouthful of food, though he swallowed the bite with an apologetic gesture before he continued, “a first year, are you?”

Yuuri nodded and the boy grinned again.

“And? Exhausted, yes?”

Yuuri looked up at him with a mixture of alarm and confusion. Was he looking so bad? The boy seemed to read some of his thoughts in his expression, because he laughed.

“Don’t worry”, he said, “the first semester is always the toughest. They’re just trying to weed out the weakest links, see if you all got what it takes. After the new year they’ll ease up on you a bit.”

Yuuri took his time chewing and swallowing his own bite, trying to digest that information. “Do… do they do that every year?”, he finally asked.

“Oh, yeah! God, I was utterly spent the whole of my first semester here. It’s just a bit of a test of your determination, I guess. Anyone in your class drop out yet?”

Yuuri shook his head, though admittedly he had heard some of his classmates complain about the tyranny more than once. And it was not like Yuuri himself had disagreed, at the time.

“You might be a good bunch then”, the boy said with another grin. “To be quite honest, the older years usually have a bit of a joke not telling anyone about this, just to see if anyone will crack. After all, we all had to make it through this same as you.” He shrugged. “But you seem like a decent fellow, figured there’s no harm in letting you know. Just don’t tell the others, will you?” He winked.

Yuuri nodded slowly, still a bit overwhelmed from all the new information. “Sure. Uhm, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m Cao Bin, by the way.” The boy extended his hand toward Yuuri over the table.

Carefully putting his cutlery down, Yuuri took it and shook it hesitantly. “Yuuri Katsuki”, he said.

And so Yuuri gained another… well, if not friend, then acquaintance, at least. On occasion, he’d see Bin in the halls or outside in the courtyard and they’d say hello, and sometimes he’d sit with Yuuri during lunch, especially once Yuuko made friends with a second year dancer called Takeshi and they started sitting together at lunch sometimes. Yuuri was sure he wasn’t a particularly riveting conversation partner, but Bin didn’t seem to mind it, just chatted endlessly about his own classes, his classmates, and whatever dances they were learning at the time. Yuuri listened patiently, offering a nod or a comment here or there. He was still a bit bewildered about why Bin had sought him out, but admittedly it was quite interesting getting a glimpse into the fourth year classes through him.

After a few weeks, Bin suggested to Yuuri after they had finished their lunch that they take a walk around the courtyard before classes resumed, and Yuuri found that after the food and the last hours stuck in a stuffy dance studio, the fresh air was quite pleasant, clearing his head before theory, so they made it a regular thing.

During these walks, Bin asked Yuuri about himself, too, just the basics at first: Where he was from, about his family, where he lived now, how he’d gotten to dance and whether he was planning to go en pointe or if he would stay base, as they called the dancers who focused on lifting rather than being lifted.

So Yuuri told him a little about Hasetsu and his parents’ inn and tried not to let the lump in his throat show when Bin asked if he didn’t miss them. He didn’t explain that, though he did write them letters regularly, he didn’t think he could go back and visit them before his training was over because if he went back now and saw his family again, he wasn’t at all sure if he’d be able to come back.

It didn’t seem like the kind of information he should share with someone he barely knew a few weeks.

Instead, he told Bin that he’d done a little en pointe training with his old teacher and in preparation for the entrance exam, but that he figured he’d probably do better if he remained base. After all, en pointe training was a lot more challenging and while his body could probably be suited to both depending on his training either emphasising his musicality or his stamina, he was also worried about being able to stay as slim as he was now as he grew older, knowing how easy he’d gained weight as a child. Now, while his body was growing, there was little extra fat on his body except for the roundness of his cheeks, but all of that might change once he was past his adolescence. But this, too, was something he did not feel necessary to share with Bin, though that did not keep Bin from remarking on how graceful he was sure Yuuri must look en pointe.

Yuuri shrugged. “We’re all ballet dancers”, he said, “I suppose being graceful is a part of that.”

This made Bin laugh for some reason. “That’s easy for someone your age to say. Just you wait until your body changes and then try and take your grace for granted. You should have seen me and the rest of my class last year. It was a disaster.”

“Oh.” Looking at Bin, Yuuri couldn’t help but think of the kind of long-limbed awkwardness that had come with Victor’s first growth spurts recently. But then, Victor wasn’t a trained dancer—somehow Yuuri hadn’t considered that it might affect him the same way when the time came. “Is it that bad?”

“Doesn’t have to be”, Bin said with a shrug, “if you’re lucky. Just be glad you don’t have to deal with it just yet.” He cast a look at Yuuri from the corner of his eyes. “Or do you, eh? You started changing yet?”

“Uhm…”, Yuuri blinked, unsure if he quite understood what Bin was asking.

“I think growing hair is usually where it begins”, Bin continued easily, “You growing hair down there yet?”

Yuuri felt himself flush. “I, uhm… I—”, all words were suddenly stuck in his throat. He had indeed found some hair growing between his legs over the summer, but he certainly didn’t want to talk about it. He couldn’t quite imagine if it would be more mortifying to admit that he had or to pretend that he hadn’t, and his mind raced trying to find a way around answering the question.

Bin just laughed again. “No need to be shy about it! We’re just two guys talking, right? There’s no shame in saying it. I certainly have.” There was a faint note of pride in his voice at his words. “If you want I could even show—”

His words were interrupted by the bell signalling the end of lunch break, to Yuuri’s endless relief, and he almost fled back to his classroom.

He spent most of his Anatomy class distracted by Bin’s words, running them over and over through his mind. In the moment he had wanted nothing less than to talk about those things with him, but had Bin been right, saying that it was nothing to be ashamed of? Was this the kind of thing boys talked about? The only other boy Yuuri had spent any amount of time with was Victor and Victor... well, he was nobility. An Earl’s son. Surely it wasn’t appropriate for someone like him to talk about something so banal. But for Yuuri and the other people at this school… maybe he was just being too sensitive, though the thought still made him shudder.

Bin kept approaching him for lunch and suggesting they take walks, and Yuuri agreed, though he didn’t feel quite happy about it. He didn’t want to be rude, after all Bin hadn’t really done anything wrong, this was just on Yuuri feeling uncomfortable. And most of the time it wasn’t that bad—they took their walks and talked about anything and everything, classes, food, their favourite ballets and music, and though Bin still did most of the talking, this wasn’t something that Yuuri really minded—in fact, he usually rather preferred it that way.

It was only every once in a while that Bin did or said something that left Yuuri feeling like he wanted to be anywhere but there, like when he remarked on how slim Yuuri’s waist was and insisted on trying if he could wrap both his hands around it, standing so close behind Yuuri that he could feel his breath against his hair. Or when he asked if Yuuri thought girls or boys were prettier, and if he’d learned about the differences between their bodies yet. Or when he asked if anyone had kissed Yuuri yet and if he was curious about how it felt.

But these instances were rare, all things considered, and Yuuri tried not to think too much about them. He already knew he was a private person, that must be why he didn’t want to talk about these things, but there was surely nothing wrong with them in themselves. There couldn’t be anything wrong with them, because every time he even considered asking anyone about it, he felt so silly. What was he even going to say? _He wants to talk to me about boys and girls and kissing?_ Wasn’t that what everyone their age was talking about? Even talking about their bodies wasn’t anything too unusual when they were both dancers, working with their bodies every day at school. No, he was surely just overreacting because he wasn’t familiar with these types of conversations, didn’t quite know what to say.

So he just gritted his teeth and hoped with every one of their conversations that these topics wouldn’t come up, and in the meantime listened to the conversations of his classmates and fellow students in the changing rooms and the refectory, hoping to overhear something that might give him a better idea of how to act in these situations, but somehow nothing of the sort ever came up. Perhaps it was something that you’d only talk about in private—that would make sense, and after all, Bin also only brought these things up when they were taking their walks in the courtyard.

But no matter how Yuuri tried to reason with himself, he couldn’t quite shake off the uncomfortable feeling, until he was beginning to almost dread those days of the week when he had lunch with Bin. Thankfully it wasn’t all of them—Yuuko still ate with him a few times a week, and for some reason Bin never joined them when that was the case. Perhaps he didn’t want to intrude upon their time. Inevitably of course Yuuko asked about him, in that open way she had, though she took his reluctance to talk about it and his staring at his hands throughout entirely the wrong way. Yuuri didn’t know of a way to deny her assumption without reaffirming her belief that Yuuri must surely be sweet on him even more.

The longer he knew Bin, the less Yuuri liked to spend time with him, but he didn’t really know how to pull back, not when Bin was so enthusiastic about spending even more time together. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and Bin always seemed so disappointed when Yuuri made some excuse—legitimate or not—to not see him. He had taken to waiting for Yuuri outside the changing room after evening practice, insisting on walking him out. After the first few times this happened, Yuuko had winked at him and quickly taken to making herself scarce, and Yuuri didn’t know how to explain to her that he really wished she’d stick around.

Bin lived in the dorms, so it wasn’t even like they had a shared way home—Bin really just walked him out of the Academy and across the courtyard to the gate, where he then kept Yuuri wrapped up in one-sided conversation until long after classes had ended and the last stragglers of students and even the staff had passed them by. Yuuri usually cited the need to go back to the townhouse for dinner in order to escape, which was not untrue, but still it often took way too long before Bin let him go. Even when autumn turned into winter and the air turned bitter cold or rain was pouring down, it would not deter him. Bin would stand really close to Yuuri then, citing the need to keep warm, or crowd him back against the outer wall of the courtyard so that the would both fit under the narrow awning keeping them safe from the rain.

It was one of those nights, when the rain was almost deafening on the shingles above them, running off of them in heavy waterfalls, shielding them from sight even if there had been anybody around in this miserable weather, when Bin had gotten so close to Yuuri that Yuuri was essentially pressed up against the wall at his back and still there was hardly any distance between their bodies left. Though Yuuri wouldn’t have said he expected it, he still found that he wasn’t surprised when Bin leaned down to kiss him almost mid-sentence. Yuuri managed to turn his head away in time, so that Bin only caught his cheek.

Yuuri opened his mouth to stammer some apology, make some excuse, but before he said anything, Bin’s hand was cupping his chin, trying to turn his face back towards him.

“Come on, Katsuki”, he murmured, “ _Yuuri_. Don’t be like that.”

Yuuri shook his head as well as he could in Bin’s grip. “I’m sorry—I don’t…”

Bin huffed a little laugh, but it did not sound amused. “There’s nothing to be scared of. Come on, I can show you everything you need to know.”

The pressure on his chin increased, and Yuuri closed his eyes, but still kept his face firmly turned away. Bin sighed, and for a moment Yuuri had hope that that would be it, but a second later Bin’s lips were on his neck, mouthing down his throat right down past the collar of his shirt.

Raising his hands, Yuuri tried to push him away but instead Bin pressed closer, pushing the entire length of his body up against Yuuri.

“You’re too timid, Yuuri”, he murmured against Yuuri’s skin, and Yuuri shuddered, “Just let me show you a good time. Loosen up a little.”

Bin’s hand on Yuuri’s chin tightened again, turning his face, too much pressure for Yuuri to resist.

“Look at me”, Bin said, voice rough, and despite his better judgement, Yuuri opened his eyes. Bin’s gaze bored into him, sharp and heated. With his other hand, Bin grabbed ahold of Yuuri’s wrist and guided his hand down between their bodies, between Bin’s legs. Still holding Yuuri’s gaze, Bin deliberately rolled his hips forward until Yuuri could feel something hard and hot rubbing against his palm, a groan falling from Bin’s lips.

Yuuri tried to pull his hand away, but Bin held him fast, releasing Yuuri’s chin now to reach down with his other hand, too, and unbutton his trousers. Yuuri was frozen, heart pounding, eyes screwed shut once more as Bin guided Yuuri’s hand under the fabric, but the second his fingers made contact with coarse hair and hot skin, something snapped.

Yuuri yanked his hand away and shoved back against Bin, somehow pushing him off balance enough to be able to shimmy out from between him and the wall, and then he ran off, blindly, into the rain.

He barely felt the cold water soaking his clothes and hair, droplets running down his glasses and obscuring his vision, barely registered the thundering splashes of his feet against the cobblestones as he ran. Only felt the fingers on his chin, wrapped around his wrist. Static in his mind. He didn’t dare look back, even though he was already several streets away.

Turning another corner, he stopped short, almost slipping on the wet stones, when a shape suddenly appeared before him between the sheets of rain.

“Yuuri! There you are!”

Yuuri sucked in what felt like his first breath since he’d stepped outside the Academy, and pressed his lips together to keep it from turning into a sob.

“Ah, look at you, you’re soaked through. Come here.”

Victor stepped forward until Yuuri was within the circumference of his large umbrella, shielding him from the rain. Reaching out, Victor pushed Yuuri’s dripping hair out of his face with gloved hands, and Yuuri was glad he was already shivering from the rain.

“Why did you try to run home in this weather? I was coming to pick you up! You’ll catch your death!”

Yuuri thought he might shatter with the effort of keeping himself together. Something of it must have shown on his face, because Victor frowned, stepping closer. “Ah, are you okay? I’m not angry, Yuuri, I just don’t want you getting sick.”

Yuuri forced himself to nod. “I’m alright”, he said. His voice sounded hoarse. “I just—thank you for coming to pick me up. You didn’t have to.”

Victor chuckled. “Well, of course I did! Did you think we would let you walk home on your own in this weather?”

“No, I mean…”, Yuuri cleared his throat, “ _you_ didn’t have to.”

“Oh.” Victor paused for a moment, considering. “I suppose that’s true. Father wanted to send one of the footmen, but I volunteered. After all, the two of us fit better under one umbrella anyway, don’t you think?”

Victor grinned, and Yuuri could feel something like a smile on his own face, too. “Of course.”

“Well then”, Victor said, turning to stand next to Yuuri and thread his arm through Yuuri’s, gloved hand resting against the soaked material of Yuuri’s coat. “Let’s get you home and out of those clothes, shall we? You must be freezing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains **sexual harassment and a scene of sexual assault** between two teens.  
> If you'd prefer to skip the scene, skip from the paragraph starting with "Yuuri opened his mouth to stammer some apology" to the one starting with "He barely felt the cold water".
> 
> Stay safe 💜


	4. III - don't come closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... I'm alive? Surprise?
> 
> Sorry for the long break! For those of you who don't follow my social media, I've been having some mental health related problems lately, thus my posting break at the start of the year. I'm in treatment now and on the mend, hopefully. It'll be a while probably before I'm all back to my usual self, but. I'm carefully optimistic that I'll be able to resume posting of all four of my YOI Angst Week fics. 
> 
> **CW for this chapter in the end notes.**

The winter that Victor turned seventeen of age was definitely one of the worst—it was a long, dark season, colder than the ones he had experienced previously. Or perhaps that was just how it felt to him, since he spent more of this winter in the country than he ever had before.

There had been a bad crop in the fall and the tenants on the estate were struggling, and on top of it there had been repairs to be made to the roof of the manor house lest the winter‘s harsh weather should damage its structure. So Victor‘s father was needed at the estate almost through the whole of winter, overseeing the repairs and making sure the tenants‘ needs were seen to and the fields readied to yield a better crop the next year.

It was good for Victor to see, he said, how a crisis such as this was handled level-headed even under difficult circumstances, and so he kept Victor with him throughout most of the cold season.

But apart from the servants and the construction workers there was no one else at the estate, certainly no one who was at all Victor‘s age, and the nights were long and dull with nothing to do in the evenings but play cards with his father or sit and read books.

Not that Victor minded reading books or even playing cards with his father, and his piano practice, too, saw as much improvement in this season as never before… but nonetheless it was a tedious time.

A few times the Earl invited neighbours over for a dinner, but he was reluctant to, since the manor was in such a state due to the repairs, and besides, their visitors were all much older than Victor and, if they bothered to talk to him at all, asked him only about his studies or, after enquiring with his father—never with him—on whether he was courting anyone yet, praised their absent nieces and nephews and cousins to him.

His father would grimace apologetically to him over their meals, and Victor would shrug, and when the Earl finally declared that perhaps there would not be any more dinner parties while they were in the country, Victor could not say he was disappointed.

When the holidays had come and passed and a new year had begun, both on the calendar and in Victor‘s young life, his sense of adventure got the best of him a couple of times and he snuck out of the manor in the evening, a plain hat pulled over his distinct hair, and went in search of whatever public house or bar the local youth might spend their tedious winter nights.

The first time was not particularly successful—the first pub he went into was populated by the town‘s who’s who, over half of which he was sure recognised him immediately, hat notwithstanding. It was probably not a help, either, that he kept the hat on when he went inside.

No one spoke to him, though they all eyed him, and Victor had a lonely half-pint at the bar, the barman glancing at him sympathetically, and afterwards he hastened outside and, discouraged, went back home.

His father‘s knowing smile the next morning told Victor that the town‘s grapevine had already done its job, but thankfully he did not feel the need to comment on it.

Victor held out for another couple of weeks after that before the silence of the house became too much and he snuck out again. This time he didn‘t bother with any of the public houses, instead strolling around the smaller alleys and the edges of the town, keeping an eye out for any people of his own age.

He finally ran into a small group smoking and chatting at the edge of the river, their breaths along with the smoke of their cigarettes beading into clouds in the cold winter air.

Victor approached them, hands buried in his pockets and trying to look natural, though the looks they gave him told him he wasn‘t being very successful. He wasn‘t sure if any of them recognised him, his hair being once again hidden under his cap, but he was certain as soon as he opened his mouth they could tell that he wasn‘t exactly one of the village youth.

Nonetheless they didn‘t seem to mind that he joined them, gave him a cigarette that he proceeded to cough through, much to everyone‘s amusement, and even offered him a beer, which he could down with much more expertise.

That seemed to be enough for them to at least not immediately cast him out of their midst, and they spent the rest of the evening strolling along the edges of the town, drinking and smoking. The rest of the group were chatting among themselves, talking about people that Victor didn‘t know and using slang that he didn‘t understand. No one bothered to ask him anything much more than if he wanted another beer, and Victor didn‘t quite dare chime in too much on their conversation, but when their path took them to something like a converted barn which Victor understood belonged to one of their families, they ushered him inside along with them without a second glance.

From the look of the place it was used as something of a convening place more often, cigarette butts in the dirt and booze bottles along the wall speaking of past exploits. There were even a couple of beat up music instruments in a corner, and as soon as they‘d all taken seats on the various wooden structures that served as chairs, someone whipped out a pack of cards.

Needless to say Victor had quite a lot more fun than playing cards with his father, and after a couple more beers and a few rounds of insults thrown from all sides because of lost games, the conversation flowed a little easier between them.

After a while the night lost its sharpness, fuzzing out at the edges, and Victor wasn‘t quite sure how he‘d ended up pressed against a barn wall being kissed senseless, a hand buried firmly in his hair while someone was trying rather spiritedly to play a very out of tune fiddle, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

He wasn‘t quite sure of how late it was by the time he made it back to the estate, his steps a bit uncertain but a giddy smile on his lips, but he was lucky that Cook was already up and preparing breakfast, so that he could sneak back in through the kitchens. Cook, after her initial shock, laughed at him and gave him a piece of fried bread that left his fingers greasy with butter, before sending him off to bed.

His father was a little annoyed that Victor didn‘t make it out of bed in time for breakfast (or their first appointment of the day with one of their tenants), but still he didn‘t seem to mind too much that Victor was looking for some entertainment outside of the house.

Victor went out at night a couple more times after that, and in between he met with Louis sometimes at the edge of the estate or by the river, for some more snogging in the gazebo and some hasty, fumbling experiences hidden between the trees.

It wasn‘t until Louis started whispering love to him as they were coming down, still sweaty and panting, that Victor decided perhaps it was time to pull back. As much fun as he was having with the boy, he was still going back to the city as soon as he was able, was looking forward to it more than anything, and he certainly did not intend to run away with the greengrocer‘s son.

Some clumsy apologies and a lot of awkwardness later, Victor‘s outings with the town youth dropped off as quickly as they had come, and thankfully Victor‘s father still refrained from commenting.

The rest of the winter, Victor dedicated himself to help his father with all his tasks, spent his evenings reading in his rooms or writing letters to Yuuri that mostly went unanswered.

The letters were of no import, mostly detailed the rather tedious tasks of Victor‘s days and some of his explorations at night, though he carefully left out any mention of Louis—this didn‘t seem like something he wanted to share with anyone just yet, not even Yuuri. He enquired after Yuuri‘s own days, too, how his studies at the Academy were going.

He only received a reply a few times, and then they were mostly the same. Sweet Yuuri asked after Victor‘s work with more interest and curiosity than he could possibly genuinely feel, and then mentioned his routine of lessons, practice and training. All of his days seemed to be the same, much like Victor‘s own were, despite the fact that Yuuri had the whole city at his disposal.

He never mentioned socialising with his fellow students or venturing out into the city on his own, despite the fact that he would be well allowed to, as long as he didn‘t neglect his studies, and knew enough of the city now to find his way around.

But it seemed Yuuri was not particularly keen to move outside of that small bubble of what was familiar to him.

Perhaps, Victor thought, he should take Yuuri out to see something of the city himself sometime. After all, what was the point of living in the city if you never saw any part of it? Maybe Victor could take Yuuri to the zoo, or to one of the city‘s famous patisseries to try their cakes and confections, though it would take some convincing to get Yuuri to break his diet. Perhaps he could take Yuuri to the opera. He knew Yuuri got to see plenty of ballet performances as a part of his training, but the opera must still be unfamiliar to him.

Making up these plans in his head and trying to think of ways to convince Yuuri to let Victor treat him took up another good part of Victor‘s evenings until he was finally allowed to travel back into the city. By then, the cold of winter was finally starting to lift and the repairs of the country house were finally completed.

He wasn‘t quite sure what he expected when he and his father returned to the townhouse around the middle of February, snowy sludge still lining the city’s streets, dirtied by the carriages and cars. He had been gone almost four months, Yuuri having reached his sixteenth year in his absence while he himself had reached his seventeenth, and a new year had begun, but as much as it had felt endless to Victor, it had only been four months.

Any other four months would have passed in the blink of an eye, so he had not thought about the passage of that time very much.

But he was rather insistently reminded of it when he and his father were standing in the town house‘s entrance hall, their coats and hats being taken by the butler welcoming them back to the house, and footsteps hurried down the staircase.

Victor almost didn’t recognise the young man standing there at the bottom of the stairs, bowing at first to his father and then to him, before approaching them with a wide smile on his face.

„Your Lordship“, he said, „Vitya. Welcome back!“

Victor would not have thought that it was possible for someone to change so much in such a short amount of time, and yet here Yuuri was. His hair was still long, as he‘d been letting it grow since he had come to the city, and tied back neatly at the nape of his neck, and his eyes were still large and dark and deep—but almost everything else about him seemed changed.

He had grown at least a hand’s breadth, enough that the sleeves of his shirt were a little short. The only reason the trousers were not was likely that they were new, had been purchased from the allowance that the Earl always allotted to make sure that Yuuri‘s needs were taken care of in their absence. Yuuri‘s face was leaner, his jaw sharper, no longer the face of a boy, though not quite the face of a man yet. His shoulders were broader, too, and what Victor could see of his lean forearms peeking out of his shirt sleeves was lined with stark veins, his body gaining in strength.

Victor was only speechless for a moment, or so he hoped, before he grinned and swept Yuuri into an embrace with a call of his name.

„It‘s so good to see you!“, he murmured close to Yuuri‘s ear, „It‘s been a dreadfully dull winter without you.“

Yuuri let himself be squeezed firmly before he stepped back, ducking his head bashfully.

„Yes, it‘s been… very quiet around here, too. It‘s good to have you back.“

It made Victor grin to see that Yuuri, despite all his physical changes, still blushed just as easily as he had, and was still just as reluctant with his words of affection. It was a familiar touch, a relief; though he may certainly be growing up, he was still just the same Yuuri that Victor had left a few months prior.

„You‘ve grown quite a lot, haven‘t you?“, the Earl said, giving words to Victor‘s thoughts, clapping his hand on Yuuri‘s shoulder, „I hope it hasn‘t been too much of a hindrance to your training?“

„No, Sir“, Yuuri said, standing up a little straighter, his body taking on that grace that came so natural to him now, another thing that was unchanged. „It wasn‘t too much all at once, Madame‘s been saying. She says I might gain another few centimetres, though I don‘t know how she can tell, but she doesn‘t think I‘ll be getting too tall.“

Yuuri‘s voice was level as he spoke, and quite serious, as was his expression. He seemed subdued beyond the excitement of their reunion, though Victor wasn‘t quite certain if it was his actual behaviour or rather his more grown-up appearance, the lack of his rounded cheeks and somewhat childlike features that lent his demeanour a certain gravity that had been previously absent.

Over the next few days, however, Victor‘s impression seemed to solidify itself as he spent some time with Yuuri, sitting together over tea in the library or in Victor‘s sitting room in the evenings, chatting about the time they were apart.

Yuuri, though he spoke freely around Victor and patiently answered all his questions about the last few months in the city, though Victor would still see that familiar passion and determination glimmering in his eyes when he talked about dance, definitely seemed more solemn than he had been, more thoughtful.

His energy expressed itself in a nervous fidgeting more than it had, and though he had always been careful with his words, he seemed to think through them even more now. Victor couldn‘t help but smile to see it, the way that Yuuri was inevitably growing up, just as Victor himself was. There was something nostalgic about it as well; Victor had enjoyed spending time with excitable, eager young Yuuri, had enjoyed the way his expressions were so open, his feelings showing in every one of them.

This Yuuri was a lot more shuttered, keeping his thoughts a mystery, as many thought a young man should, though Victor could still make him blush with a word, to his delight.

Whenever he did, Victor found himself thinking again how beautiful Yuuri was becoming. Not just in his body trained for excellence, a slim waist, strong arms and shoulders, powerful thighs, but his whole countenance, too, the soft angles of his face, his lips, though they were frequently bitten red, his soft-spoken voice.

There was beauty in the nod of his head and the gestures of his hands, long fingers moving with purpose, and in the sound of his laugh, when Victor could coax it out of him.

Sometimes he found himself thinking that, all superficialities like clothing put aside, Yuuri was starting to look more noble than Victor himself.

* * *

Yuuri pulled his stocking feet up onto the sofa and under him. He knew he was not supposed to sit like that, and he didn’t usually, but when it was just him and Victor it was okay. It was comfortable and familiar, still after all these years, putting him in mind of sitting at the low tables in his parents’ inn, the easy company of his family.

Reaching out, Yuuri plucked a slice of apple from the plate on the side table. Victor always remembered to have the servants bring fresh fruit in addition to the biscuits and confections he liked, knowing that Yuuri couldn’t have too many sweets.

Savouring the crunch and tartness of his apple, Yuuri watched Victor pick up another eclair and take a bit from the pastry with relish. A part of him was envious—even after several years of keeping to his diet as strictly as he could manage (he was still only human after all), he still missed indulging in richer food sometimes. But another part of him just really liked to see how genuinely delighted Victor was by good food, how much enjoyment he seemed to derive from it. His whole face lit up with a smile that tasted just as sweet to Yuuri.

“So, what did you do when you met up with those boys?”, he asked, once he had swallowed his bite of apple, “what did you talk about?”

Victor chewed slowly, deliberately, regarding Yuuri as he considered his reply.

“We didn’t really talk very much, to be honest”, he said, “You know, not about anything that mattered, anyway. We played cards, so we talked about the game. We drank beer and talked about how it tasted. Someone played the fiddle and we asked if they knew how to play the Rattling Bog.”

Yuuri lifted his eyebrows. “The Rattling Bog?”, he asked.

Victor shrugged with a sheepish little grin. “It’s this song—I don’t know. It’s fun.”

Shaking his head, Yuuri couldn’t hep but laugh a little. “I’m familiar”, he said, “people would sing it at the inn sometimes when it got late. I didn’t think you would be.”

Victor shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t. Until they showed me.”

Yuuri hummed. “And that’s it? They didn’t ask you about how it is to live as a nobleman in the big city or anything?”

Victor snorted, rather undignified. “No. Just as much as I didn’t ask them how it is to live as a greengrocer’s son in a small village. I—…”, he paused, slowly leaning his head from one side to another, like he was weighing something in his mind. “I don’t know. It was fun”, he finished, a small smile on his face, eyes fixed on something in the distance.

For a few moments there was silence while Yuuri tried to think of something else to ask, when Victor suddenly looked up at him, eyes narrowed slightly.

“Can I ask you something, Yuuri?”

Yuuri tilted his head to the side, curious. “Of course.”

“Have you kissed anyone yet?”

Yuuri felt his body run cold, going stiff in his seat all at once. Throat running dry, he swallowed, trying to find any words in the hollow of his mind. “Why do you—I mean, what… where is this coming from?”, he finally croaked out.

“Ah, I’m sorry”, Victor said with a bashful chuckle, running both hands through his hair draped over one shoulder, “You don’t have to tell me of course, I know we’ve never talked about this kind of thing, I just…”, he looked down at his knees in an uncharacteristic display of shyness. He was still smiling. “I did. I kissed someone, while I was there.”

“Oh.” The tension rushed out of Yuuri so suddenly that it felt like he had been smacked. “Oh.”

Victor was looking up at him a little expectantly from underneath his lashes, like he was waiting for Yuuri to say more. Yuuri swallowed.

“One of those boys, then?”, he asked, the only thing he could think of.

“Yes”, Victor said, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, “Louis.”

“I see”, Yuuri said, voice wooden. He took a deep breath, eyes fixed on Victor’s face to watch his smallest reaction. “Was it… nice?”

Victor’s mouth split into a wide, crooked grin at that, a hint of colour spreading on his cheeks. “Yes. Of course it was! What do you think? I mean… I’m not going to run off and marry him or anything, it was just… but yes. Yeah. It was… exciting.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, and Victor looked up at him again when he didn’t say anything else.

“Don’t you ever think about this kind of thing, Yuuri?”

His voice sounded genuinely curious. What else was there for Yuuri to do but to shrug, hoping that it seemed more light-hearted than he felt.

“Not really”, he said, “I don’t really have time for all that.”

Victor shook his head, chuckling.

“You know, there’s more in life than ballet. You should take a break too, sometime. Do something fun. Loosen up a little.”

Yuuri bit his lips so hard he tasted blood.

“I… I can’t afford that”, he whispered, and it wasn’t untrue. “If I don’t want to fall behind, if I want to finish training with a good recommendation and get a place in a reputable company, I have to focus. I have to work hard.”

Victor sighed, leaning back in his chair. “But you are! You’re working so hard, I’m sure there must be room for you to have some fun every once in while? I mean—of course it doesn’t have to be… this stuff, if you’re not interested in that. But take a few hours off sometimes. A day, even. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not doing this to enjoy myself”, Yuuri snapped before he could stop myself, “I’m doing this to succeed. That’s what I’m here for, right? That’s what your father brought me here for. That’s why I go through—that’s what I do all this for, right?”

It was only the resounding silence after his words and Victor’s shocked stare that made Yuuri aware of how loud his voice had become. Slapping both hands to his mouth, Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m—I’m so sorry, Victor, I should not have spoken to you like that.”

“Yuuri”, Victor began, but Yuuri shook his head, scrambling to his feet.

“No, I—… I should never speak to you like that, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, my Lord.”

He bowed hurriedly, but deeply, and before Victor could say anything else, he rushed out of the room.

* * *

Victor should not have been surprised when he finally found Yuuri in the room that Victor’s father had converted into a dance studio when Yuuri had first joined them.

He was dancing, though he obviously had not had the wherewithal or perhaps not the patience to fetch his gear; instead he had just shed most of his clothing and was now flying across the dance floor in only his stockings, undershirt and drawers. It did not take away from the effect at all, and this, too, should not have surprised Victor.

It had been quite a while since Victor had last seen Yuuri really dance, not only because of his long absence over the winter but also because Yuuri had danced a lot less at home ever since he had started at the Academy. Seeing Yuuri moving over the dance floor in quick, sweeping steps now, precise and poised and at the same time looking like he was lighter than air, Victor couldn’t tear his gaze away. When he had seen Yuuri practice his audition for the Academy, Victor had already thought that it could not be possible for Yuuri to become any better—at times he had even wondered what they could possibly still teach him at that school.

It didn’t matter the differences that were still obvious when comparing Yuuri to the professional dancers on the city’s stage—to Victor none of them could ever be more skilled than Yuuri simply because it was Yuuri, who had that way of moving to music that only he could hear, and yet could make everyone feel who watched him.

Watching him now… it made Victor breathless. Made him forget for a moment what had brought him here, seeking Yuuri out, in the first place, as he lost himself watching every captivating jump, step and turn.

But of course it couldn’t last, had to stop eventually, did stop when Yuuri spotted him, standing there in the door to the studio. He stopped, the sound of his soft footfalls fading, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, a sheen of sweat on his skin, droplets gathering in the open collar of his undershirt. His eyes were fixed on Victor like he was waiting to see what he would do. Like he was scared.

“Yuuri…”, Victor said, voice soft, taking a step into the room. Yuuri just kept staring at him.

Licking his lips, Victor took a deep breath and another few steps forward, close enough that Yuuri would be able to hear him without him having to raise his voice.

“Yuuri… do you enjoy dance?”

Yuuri let out a long breath, raising his hand to push back the long strands of hair that had escaped his hair tie while he was dancing.

“Do you enjoy being an aristocrat?”

Victor frowned, eyebrows knitting together. “Yuuri? What do you mean?”

“Well? Do you?” Yuuri looked at him expectantly, his expression serious.

Victor sighed and gave a shrug. “I… I don’t think about it like that. It’s just who I am. Whether I like it or not.”

Yuuri nodded, like he had expected something like that. “It’s the same for me. I’m a dancer. That’s just how it is. There are some aspects of it that I like, some that are just… normal. And some that I wish were different, as I’m sure there are for you, too.”

“I’m not… I don’t think it’s the same”, Victor said with a huff. “You have a choice. You don’t have to be here, you don’t have to be a dancer if you don’t want to.”

“Neither do you”, Yuuri said, without hesitation. “Right? Sure, you can’t stop being your father’s son, but you don’t have to do the whole aristocrat thing, right? You could just say you don’t want anything to do with it and go anywhere else, to the other end of the world or, say, spend the rest of your life in an inn in a tiny village out east, and never think about any of it again. You could make that choice. You would just have to deal with the consequences of that. And perhaps other people, too, would be affected by those consequences.”

There was a long moment of silence between them before Victor found his words again.

“I suppose so”, he said.

Yuuri nodded. “I could decide to stop being a dancer. There would be consequences to that decision, both positive and negative. I have decided that the negative outweigh the positive. So this is where I am. This is where I have decided I want to be right now.” A moment of hesitation as Yuuri licked his lips, and then he straightened, like someone had pulled him upright by the shoulders. A moment ago, Victor would have thought it impossible for Yuuri to stand any straighter, but now it was like every line of him was steel. “Since I am going to do this, I am going to do it right. I am going to do it _well_.” He lifted his chin the lightest bit, not enough to scream defiance, but just enough to whisper his pride. “Do you understand?”

For a moment, Victor wanted to protest, wanted to argue further out of concern for Yuuri, but there was that stubborn certainty in Yuuri’s eyes… Besides, the way Yuuri had moved just now was still vivid in Victor’s mind, the way he had made the whole room his own with the movement of his body alone, muscles and nerves as bone working together to create something that was more than physical, something sublime. That kind of dance could not be done half-hearted.

“Yes”, he said, “I understand.”

“Good.”

Yuuri’s posture relaxed just a fraction, his shoulders dropping, tension bleeding out of his muscles.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice before”, he said, his voice, too, softer again now. “I should not have spoken to you like that. I am very thankful to what your father and you have done for me, please don’t think that I’m not.”

“Yuuri….” Victor shook his head with a sigh. “You shouldn’t think like that. In general, yes, of course it could be better if we could talk about these things without fighting. But you need to… You are allowed to speak your mind, Yuuri. You are allowed to speak openly to both my father and myself. You shouldn’t have to and you don’t have to hold yourself back for fear of retribution, or anything of the sort. How many times must I tell you that you should consider us equals?”

“But we are not.” Yuuri’s voice was absolute, a statement of fact. “We are not equals. No matter how kindly you treat me. No matter that we are friends. I say the wrong thing before the wrong person, and I—”, cutting himself off, Yuuri ran both hands through his hair, pushing it back.

"I will always be just this", he continued, gesturing vaguely to himself. "A nobody."

"You're not!", Victor pressed out, teeth clenched in frustration, "You're not a nobody, not—"

"Not to you, I know. To everyone else, though. Even if I should graduate with the highest recommendation, and get the best roles in the best companies, I will never be...", he broke off, shaking his head. "I'm alright with it, really. I'm alright with being... somebody... just to you. But you... you need to stop trying to make me believe that I am more than I am. It only... makes me feel like what I am now is not enough."

Victor stepped forward slowly, until he could rest both his hands on Yuuri's arms.

"Only if you will stop believing that you are so much less than you really are. I just want you to see how amazing you are, Yuuri. I have never seen anyone dance like you. I have never seen anyone like you, period. You are someone to a great many people. Anyone who has ever seen you dance has been touched by you. A big estate or a lot of money or an important name.. these are not the things that make people matter."

"Neither is how well they can dance", Yuuri muttered.

"Perhaps not", Victor replied, a weak smile quirking up his lips, "but certainly the way in which they touch others' lives. What they make them feel. Yes?"

"Yes", Yuuri whispered.

"Yes. Okay." Victor took a deep breath. "Good. Now, let's fight no more. Do you want to keep dancing for a while longer or are you going to come back with me?"

Yuuri sighed softly and raised his arms, gently dislodging Victor's hands as he pulled his hair free from its tie. "I suppose I should stop", he said, "But I should still stretch before I come back."

The smooth curtain of his hair fell around his shoulders, reaching just past his shoulder blades, before he started brushing it back again to tie it off more neatly. Since Yuuri kept it tied or braided almost constantly, Victor rarely saw him with his hair open. It made him look softer, but stranger too, so different from the careful control of dancer Yuuri, something a little more wild.

The impression was gone as quickly as it came as he bound the dark mass of hair again at the nape of his neck.

"You don't have to stay", Yuuri then said, looking up again, "I'll get back as soon as I'm done stretching."

Victor hummed. "And if I want to keep you company? Would you mind?"

Yuuri regarded him for a moment, considering, then he shook his head and sunk to the floor right where he stood, stretching his legs out before him. "I don't mind."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of **underage drinking and implied consensual sexual activity between minors.**
> 
> Chapter 4 posts on Feb 11.


	5. IV - don't let go of me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW for this chapter in the end notes.**

Victor found he couldn't quite stop thinking about Louis. 

Though that wasn't quite it; it wasn't Louis per sé that was on his mind. 

It was those memories, that feeling of being kissed, being touched and touching in return, that heat and excitement, the thrill. It was this that kept him up late into the night, remembering, that made him eye the young men he encountered around the city just that little bit closer, considering.

He knew with some certainty quite soon that he wanted to repeat the experience, but he didn't quite know how to go about it. It wasn't like he could just go and hang about by the river in hopes of encountering someone, the way he had done in the country. That kind of behaviour got a very different result here in the city. 

But he also couldn't say he had ever caught wind of any such goings-on in his own circles so far. With all the parties and gatherings occurring among the younger generations of aristocrats in the city, Victor could not imagine that everything was quite innocent, but perhaps they were just being somewhat more discreet about it.

Keeping his eyes and ears open during these very events did not yield any results. Sure, he was being flirted with liberally, was never short on attention, but even when he flirted back in a way that he thought must be quite obvious, nothing more ever came of it than perhaps an offer to meet his conversation partner's parents, which was decidedly not what he was after.

In his desperation and bewilderment, he finally decided to approach Christophe about the issue. After all, Chris had grown quite rapidly in the last couple of years, both in body and in... personality, and his salacious remarks became more frequent and more scandalous with every time they met. If anyone would know how to go about finding what Victor was looking for, it must surely be him.

"Say, Christophe", he began one evening, as he and Chris were reclining on the chaiselongue in Chris's parlour, each a glass of sweet wine in their hands, and Chris immediately raised an eyebrow at him.

"Christophe?", he asked, "Are we about to have a serious conversation, Victor dearest?"

Victor huffed, shaking some loose strands of hair out of his face. "Not too serious, I should hope. If this ends up being a serious conversation, things are much worse than I anticipated."

Christophe's other eyebrow joined its companion high on his forehead. "Colour me intrigued", he said, sipping his wine, "What's on your mind?"

Casting a quick glance around the room to make sure no servants were within earshot, Victor cleared his throat. "You are... a man of the world, yes? A modern man?"

Christophe chuckled deep in his throat. "I am not sure if this is your way of coming out to me or coming on to me, dear Vitya, but I must tell you you are doing it rather badly."

Victor pursed his lips in a pout. "It was neither of those, as a matter of fact, but thank you ever so much for your kind words."

Laughing again Chris raised his hand in apology. "Alright, alright, let's say then, for the sake of the argument, that I am, in fact, a man of the world, a modern man, as you so eloquently put it. What of it?"

Clicking his tongue, Victor gestured vaguely, emphasising words that had not yet been spoken. “Say… say I wanted to… gather some experiences. Dip my toes into the pond. How would I go about that?”

“My, Vitya”, Chris said, and his grin turned positively wicked, “Are you asking me to find you someone who will take your flower?”

Victor scoffed, though he could still feel the heat rising into his cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chris, my flower is well taken care of.”

“Oh?” Chris’s eyebrows rose again. “Is that so? Who by, may I ask? Not that pretty little dancer you keep in your home, by any chance?”

“Wha—Chris, no! Of course not.”

“No? Why not? And don’t tell me it’s because you are not attracted to him because you would quite certainly be the first person I met who isn’t. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off him if I lived under the same roof.”

“Chris, please! He’s practically still a child.”

Chris chuckled. “Hardly! He’s only a year younger than us, well, less than a year, really. And no one’s been able to stop talking about him since this winter, since… well. You’ve seen him, I’m sure.”

Victor huffed. “Well, yes. But he’s my friend. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about him like this.” He paused. “And what do you mean no one’s been able to stop talking about him? I haven’t heard any talk.”

Chris laughed, full-bodied, jostling his wine glass enough to almost spill the dark red liquid all over himself and the chaiselongue. “Of course you haven’t! Didn’t you just chastise me for the way I spoke about him in the same breath? Everyone knows you’re protective of him, they’re not going to speak of him when you’re there.”

Pressing his lips together, Victor felt a warmth suffusing his body that he wasn’t quite sure he could parse. He took a long gulp of his wine, feeling like a hypocrite. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had those same thoughts that likely went through these people’s minds when he had looked at Yuuri recently. What right did he have to be upset when other people agreed with him?

“Well, I don’t think about Yuuri like that.” The lie had passed his lips before he could quite understand that his tongue had formed it. “So no. It wasn’t him.”

“Well, then who? Do enlighten me, darling.”

Victor sighed. “It was just a boy I met in the country. No one important, but…”, he trailed off, getting lost in thoughts.

“Handsome?”, Chris guessed. 

“Very. In that country boy kind of way, you know? A little bit rough around the edges. Strong.”

“Ah.” Chris grinned knowingly. “I see. And now you’ve tasted blood and you want to repeat the experience. But you’re not in the country anymore.”

“Something like that.” Victor swirled his wine in his glass, watching the pale pink rim the liquid left along the clear surface as it slowly fused back into the body of the wine. “And I’ve tried to put myself out there, you know, I’m not completely clueless, and I like to think of myself as charming but… no one seems to be buying what I’m offering and I’m—” gritting his teeth in a grimace, Victor gave Chris a helpless shrug.

“Frustrated?”

“Just a tad.”

“Well, I’m not surprised”, Christophe said, leaning back.

Now it was Victor’s turn to raise his eyebrows at him. 

“Oh, don’t worry darling”, Chris said with a crooked grin, “I’m not just flattering you when I tell you you’re more beautiful every time we meet. And you are quite charming, too, with everyone you meet, quite disarmingly charming. But, well….”

“Well…?”, Victor asked, eyes still fixed on Chris like he could read the reply that Chris didn’t want to give on his face.

“I believe”, Chris said slowly, “that everyone is a little intimidated by you.”

“Intimidated?” Victor could feel his forehead crease with a frown. “But why?”

“Well, being the eldest and only child of the Earl Nikiforov certainly doesn’t help. To be quite frank, most of the so-called society people couldn’t hope to hold a candle to you even if you were the most homely man in the city. But you’re quite gorgeous, too, and, as you said, quite perfectly and nauseatingly charming with absolutely everyone. You’re something that most of those people could never even hope to put their finger on. And then….” Chris looked at him from the corner of his eyes, and took a sip of his wine, considering. “Ah, let’s say, you don’t really socialise a lot, outside of my own humble self. At least to my recollection, I have never seen you have a conversation with any of them. And I mean a _conversation_ , not chatter. Or am I wrong?”

Victor stared at him, dumbstruck. Now that he thought about it, he supposed it was true that he never talked to anyone at these events except for Christophe in any way that wasn’t completely superficial. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, or that he didn’t care, but… there was always a distance between him and almost anyone else, a certain wall of formality and awe that he never quite managed to break through. And of course, now that he thought of it, breaking through that formality had to come from him as the higher ranking person in the conversation—after all, in the eyes of society it wouldn’t do for lower nobles or even commoners to be too familiar with him, as Yuuri liked to remind him. And how were these people to know that he didn’t really care much for formality?

“I… suppose so”, Victor finally said, lamely. 

Chris hummed. “That’s what I thought. So of course none of them would dare to be too forward with you. And even if you did take the initiative to flirt a little, I doubt any of them would suspect that that is what you’re after. Again, you have a reputation for being a bit…”, he hesitated, eyeing Victor as he weighed his words, “untouchable.”

With a huff, Victor slumped in his seat, throwing back the last of his wine. “So, what, am I doomed to lead a chaste life until I am married then?”

Chris chuckled, reaching for the wine left for them on the side table by the servants and immediately refilling Victor’s glass. “I don’t think it needs to be quite as drastic as that”, he said, “Now that you’ve confided in me, I’m sure we can find someone who is to your taste and arrange something. Or, you know…”

Chris took his time, filling up his own wine glass as well and then polishing off the small rest left over straight from the bottle. Victor watched him from the corner of his eyes, still slumped deeply into the cushions. “Or?”

“… there’s always me”, Chris said, after having replaced the bottle on the side table.

Victor said up a little straighter.

“Oh? Didn’t you rather roughly rebuke me just a little while ago for coming on to you?”

Chris clicked his tongue. “I believe, darling, that I rebuked you for coming on to me badly, which is quite a different matter.”

Victor pulled himself up a little more on the chaiselongue, twisting his body to face Christophe properly, and ran his gaze over him, trying to see him from a fresh perspective. He knew, of course, that Chris was no longer the rosy-faced blond child that he had first met years ago, but Victor had never thought to look at him as a potential prospect. Now he tried to take him in, his soft, thick curls and long lashes contrasted with his angular face and slight stubble, a handsome mixture of boyish and masculine. 

Christophe seemed to preen slightly under the attention, throwing Victor a grin and a wink that suddenly felt a little more laden with meaning than his usual flirtatious behaviour.

“I don’t know”, Victor finally said, “Wouldn’t it be weird?”

“I don’t think it would be, for me”, Chris said, easily but decisively, like he had thought about it before. “But if it would be for you, I understand.”

Victor considered it, chewing on his lower lip. “What if it changes things between us? Destroys our friendship?”

Chris raised one eyebrow, doubtful. “Do you think you’re in any danger of falling madly in love with me, Vitya?”

“No”, Victor said immediately; this was something he did not have to think about. As much as he liked Christophe as a friend, they were certainly not compatible as romantic prospect.

“See, the same is true for me”, Chris said, “I do adore you, darling, don’t get me wrong, but there’s not an army in this world that could entice me to marry you. Therefore I think our friendship is quite safe.”

Victor laughed; he couldn’t even feign offence at the vehemence of Chris’s rejection, not when he felt quite the same. 

“We could just give it a try”, Chris continued after a moment, “a one-off, if you will, just to see if we’re compatible. If we’re not, we’ll call it quits, no hard feelings and no harm to our friendship. If we are, however… well, I think we could have quite extraordinary amounts of fun.”

Victor took another moment and a long, thoughtful sip from his wine, recalling his adventures with Louis and trying to picture Chris’s hands on him instead, Chris’s lips on his. He found he could imagine it quite easily, and a thrill ran through him at the thought. 

“Alright. Alright! Let’s give it a try.”

A lazy grin spread over Chris’s face. “With pleasure.”

“I should hope so”, Victor said and, suddenly eager, reached out his free hand to place it on Christophe’s thigh. 

Chris took it in his own and, after squeezing it briefly, pushed it gently back toward Victor. 

“I’m afraid”, he said with a real note of regret in his voice, “that the city requires a little more discretion than the middle of nowhere in the country. So you’ll have to practice a little more patience, Vitya. But I think it would not be too far out of character for you to spend the night in one of our guest rooms after having a few glasses of wine, don’t you agree?”

Victor’s eyes widened slightly in understanding, and he nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes”, he said, “I’m afraid I am rather too tired to still make my way home tonight, so I will have to rely on your hospitality for tonight.”

“You know you are always quite welcome”, Chris said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And if there should be anything you need tonight, you always now where to find me.”

* * *

Yuuri wouldn’t have come if the Earl hadn’t insisted.

After his and Victor’s argument, Victor had started accepting it more easily when Yuuri declined to accompany him to some soiree or another. Victor still asked him if he wanted to come each time, but Yuuri felt it was only done out of politeness and habit now, not really expecting any other answer than a polite refusal.

But this time, as Victor had asked him over lunch whether Yuuri wanted to join him for a small affair hosted by Georgi Popovich, the Earl had chimed in.

“You should go, Yuuri”, he had said, “it will be good for you to socialise more with people your own age, outside of your peers at the Academy. You know ballet is a highly competitive world. It wouldn’t hurt to make use of the opportunities Vitya gives you to establish some connections with families who may very well turn out to be patrons in the future.”

“Ah but”, Yuuri had said, a bite of his salad halfway to his mouth, “won’t it interfere with my training? I have classes in the morning.”

The Earl had waved his words away. “Nonsense! It’s not going to be every night, just every once in a while. And Vitya will make sure not to keep you out too long, won’t you, Vitya?”

When Victor had assented, the Earl had given a satisfied smile. “There you have it. You’ve reached an age now, Yuuri, where it’s healthy for a young man to socialise and spread his wings a little. Learn something of the world. I trust you to know how to keep it from interfering with your studies. You’ve always been very diligent in that regard.”

So Yuuri had swallowed and nodded and now here he was, standing at the edge of the drawing room in the Popovichs’ town house, a crystal glass with a sharp, amber-coloured liquid in his hand.

He didn’t really know anyone here, outside of Victor. He was familiar with Christophe Giacometti and Georgi Popovich, had encountered them a few more times over the course of their friendship with Victor, but he’d never had a real conversation with either of them. The rest of the few guests Yuuri had maybe seen from afar at some function or another, and might be able to remember their names if pressed, but that was all. 

He’d attempted to cling to the etiquette he’d learned to get him through the night, but it turned out he wouldn’t get far here with meaningless small talk and rehearsed quips. There were only young people here, people Yuuri’s own age, with not even a chaperon to oversee them, and it seemed none of them cared much about the formalities. They all called one another by their first names, drinks flowed freely, raunchy jokes abounded, as did bold flirtation.

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He didn’t think he was the youngest one here, but he certainly felt it. Everyone else seemed to know perfectly what to do, what to say. Yuuri was too worried about saying something wrong to even open his mouth; he wasn’t even sure he wanted to talk to any of these people.

When they had arrived Victor had pushed a drink into his hand and told him about the other guests in a rapid fire whisper that Yuuri had been barely able to follow. But little later, Christophe had arrived and Victor had excused himself to go greet him, and hadn’t returned since. 

So Yuuri had stuck close to the wall, nursed his drink that burned in his throat when he took a sip, and decided to just wait it out. 

Once or twice someone had tried to talk to him, a boy who leaned way too close to him, a girl whose high-pitched giggles smelled of alcohol. Somehow they had known his name and had talked to him like they were familiar, but Yuuri could not have returned the favour even if he had dared. He stammered his way through an awkward conversation, staring down into his drink, and thankfully both of them soon got bored with him, and left.

What was more difficult to bear was to see them, and other people, too, approaching Victor, whispering something to him and seeing their heads turn to blatantly eye Yuuri in his corner. Sometimes they were frowning and sometimes they were laughing, and Victor would grin and wave his hand dismissively and whisper something back to them. It made Yuuri ache, to see that almost apologetic grin, that dismissive wave, like he was indicating that Yuuri wasn’t important at all. He couldn’t hear what Victor was saying, but nonetheless he felt it echo in his mind. _Oh, ignore him. He’s no one. My father made me bring him._

Then he would go back to his conversation with Christophe seamlessly—if indeed it could be called a conversation. It mostly seemed to involve a lot of laughing and leaning a lot closer to each other than one would in polite society. And then Victor whispered something to Christophe, so intimately that Yuuri was sure his lips must be brushing over Christophe’s skin, and Christophe grinned, his hand curling around Victor’s waist. Yuuri felt something in his throat constrict.

He knew it shouldn’t be a surprise to him—Victor had told him about his flirtation in the country with so much excitement. But it turned out it was one thing to hear about it, and quite another to see it first hand. Even now, Victor’s excitement was evident, his smiles easy and his eyes shining. Yuuri knew he should be happy for Victor, but instead his mouth tasted like ashes, and he couldn’t suppress the thought that it seemed like not even a single aspect of Yuuri’s life should not be spoiled by this wretched thing, this thing that made people claw and push and tear at each other. That made people hurt.

Yuuri tried his best to tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t quite keep his gaze from wandering back toward Victor and Christophe, fixating on every brush of fingers against skin, curling around fabric. His eyes were drawn to it by an unseen force, unable to look away. He tried to let his attention stray, to not listen too closely to their laughter and their murmured words, being unable to understand them through the noise in the room anyway. Still he couldn’t quite seal his ears against the so familiar pitch of Victor’s voice, an anchor in this place where everything was strange.

Reluctantly Yuuri turned his head when another face appeared close to his side. How come, he dimly wondered, taking in the young man with sharp, curious eyes leaning against the wall next to him, that none of the people at this party seemed to be able to keep their proper distance? 

“You’re Katsuki, are you not?”, the boy asked, peering at him, “Nikiforov’s dancer?”

Yuuri nodded vaguely and a grin appeared on the other man’s face, not really hostile, though it wasn’t quite friendly either.

“I bet you’re really flexible then, aren’t you?”

Yuuri sighed, and downed the rest of his drink.

The drink helped.

It softened him, swathing him in comfortable folds of silk.

Made it easier for him to interact with the people who approached him next, talk to them like he was a normal human being almost, not a doll that had been left in a corner by a child who had found something more interesting to play with.

And it wouldn‘t stay the only time.

Yuuri wasn‘t sure what Victor had told his father about that night, or perhaps it was just that Yuuri‘s assurances that he had enjoyed himself after the Earl enquired had turned out to be less of a lie than anticipated.

In any case the Earl had decided that the outing had been a success, and that Yuuri should accompany Victor more often.

Mostly, Yuuri didn‘t mind very much.

After a while, it became almost easy.

He soon learnt the kind of conversation that was accepted at this kind of gathering, learnt which topics were popular, learnt the right non-committal phrases that could be interjected whenever he didn‘t know what else to say. 

He learnt to blend in among the crowd of people he felt were so far above him, and as he learnt to talk to them he also realised that perhaps not all of them were.

He talked to other people like him who seemed to have been brought by other noble folk who had taken a fancy to them or were their friends through some circumstance. There were other performers and artists, there were scholars and writers, athletes and people who were simply particularly beautiful or charming.

These Yuuri found it easier to talk to, after some adjustment, and the free flow of sharp-tasting liquor that heated him to his core made it easier still.

It made it easier to dismiss when people stood too closely to him, or touched his arm too much. It made it easier to rebuke them, when he felt like it. It made it easier to ignore it. It made it easier to pretend he liked it.

And Victor… it wasn‘t like Victor ignored him completely when they were at these affairs. Not at all—Yuuri was pretty sure that he was doing his best to help Yuuri integrate himself into these crowds. He introduced Yuuri to people he thought Yuuri might get along with. He encouraged him to talk, to drink, to flirt even.

He sat with Yuuri for a while at least, he danced with him if there was dancing.

But sooner or later, Victor would always flit off to spend time with Christophe, or, as the weeks wore on, disappear somewhere with other boys that Yuuri didn‘t even know.

He told himself there was no reason to begrudge Victor his fun. Of course Victor had friends outside of Yuuri, and of course it couldn‘t be expected of him to constantly nanny his younger friend, his father‘s protegé that he was made to bring along.

Victor should get to enjoy himself too.

And enjoy himself he obviously did.

Sometimes Yuuri found himself wondering what had become of the sweet, innocent boy who had first accepted Yuuri into his home as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

But he knew he wasn‘t being fair, so he downed another drink and focused on the person in front of him as he once again saw Victor slip out of the room in the corner of his eye. 

He nodded along to whatever it was they were saying, laughed in the right moments and tried not to let his eyes wander through the room, checking if Victor had returned yet.

When his conversation partner crowded him back against the wall little later and tried to kiss him, Yuuri let him, closing his eyes obligingly.

At least now he didn‘t have to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mentions of **underage drinking and implied consensual sexual activity between minors**.
> 
> Chapter 5 posts on Feb 25!


	6. V - i'm like porcelain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW for this chapter in the end notes!**

“Happy Anniversary, Yuuri!“

Yuuri stopped short just inside the door of the dining room, arrested by the sight that greeted him there.

A host of candles atop a lavishly decorated cake suffused the room with a warm glow, breaking through the gloom of a late November dusk the way even the modern electric light had been unable to.

“My lord?“, he asked, taking in the carefully wrapped presents stacked around the cake on the long dining table, “Vitya? What is this?“

Victor laughed, and the Earl, too, gave an indulgent smile.

“Did you really think we would let the occasion of your coming of age pass by unremarked?”, Victor said, “Something like this needs to be celebrated of course!“

He stood and bounded over, grasping his hand and pulling him closer to the table.

“Oh“, Yuuri breathed, “I didn‘t think… it‘s just a birthday. It‘s not a big deal.“

“Of course it‘s a big deal! You‘re turning eighteen! Don‘t you remember the party we threw for my birthday last year?“

Yuuri nodded. “Of course“, he said. “But that was… you. I‘m just me.“

“Don‘t be silly! You deserve to be celebrated too.“

Victor grinned, and when Yuuri cast a hesitant glance at the Earl, he gave him a smile and a nod as well.

“Well, um…“, Yuuri dipped into a shallow bow, “Thank you so much for all your efforts. I appreciate it.“

“So formal.“ Victor chuckled. “Are you already turning into an adult on me? Come, sit, sit. Tell us, how has your birthday been so far?“

Yuuri dropped into the chair Victor pushed him towards, his muscles giving a silent answer to Victor‘s question as they ached, relieved to be finally able to relax.

Training had been gruelling today—there was no reprieve for birthday boys. To be honest Yuuri wasn‘t sure anyone at the Academy even knew it was his birthday today, or, if they did, particularly cared about it. And Yuuri certainly wouldn‘t be the one to tell him.

So he had gone through his training as he did every day, the demands only growing more intense now that he was in his final year at the school.

He‘d had a companionable lunch with Yuuko, listening to her talking about Takeshi and how she was sure he would propose once she graduated.

He had been looking forward to a quiet evening, perhaps a long bath to soothe his aching muscles. But he could already tell it would be a long time tonight before he would be able to retreat to his own room.

“It‘s been fine“, he said, “just… school, training, as always.“

“So?“, Victor asked, eyebrows raised, “No celebrations then? No cards or gifts from secret admirers?“

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “Certainly not.“

“Well, then it‘s high time, don‘t you think?“, Victor asked, grinning, and gestured towards the presents on the table. “Go on, open them! Dinner will be out soon, and then of course there‘s cake!“

Yuuri‘s eyes flickered towards the many-candled confection in the center of the table. It looked delicious—all cream and chocolate and marzipan.

“I‘m really not sure I should be having any cake“, he murmured, “my diet…“

Victor nudged his arm. “Come on, surely you can make an exception one time, for your birthday! When are you going to indulge yourself a little if not today? Right, father?“

“Certainly“, the Earl assented, “a little bit of cake won‘t hurt, I‘m sure.“

Before Yuuri could protest any further, Victor unsubtly nudged the pile of presents a little closer to Yuuri, causing it to lean over, the topmost packages tumbling right into Yuuri‘s lap. He couldn‘t help but laugh at Victor‘s wide grin at this certainly completely unplanned turn of events, and took the hint to finally pick up his gifts.

Little later he was two books, a beautiful dark blue waistcoat of paisley complete with matching necktie, new ballet shoes, an engraved timepiece and two tickets to the opera richer, and almost hoarse from all his protestations that it was “too much, really, you needn‘t have.“

Both Victor and the Earl just laughed and waved his concerns away.

The last package he picked up, the Earl informed him, had been sent by his family.

The mention of them alone was enough to make emotion sit hot at the base of his throat, and he could barely will his hands to move to open the parcel.

When he finally did, fingers shaking, a colourful array of items was waiting for him inside. There was a small box of homemade biscuits from his mother, the tempting smell of ginger, sharp and sweet, wafting up at him. There was an intricate little figure of a dancer, carved from wood and polished until it felt smooth and warm like a pebble from the beach in Yuuri’s hand. This, he knew, he had to thank his sister for, who had been telling him of her recent adventures in whittling in their letters. There was another one of those, a thick envelope of several pages that Yuuri tucked back into the parcel to read later, when he was alone, lest he burst into tears at the dinner table. There was a recent photograph of the three of them, and Minako at their side, their expressions serious but their faces full of love.

Yuuri swallowed against the burning in his eyes and hurriedly tucked this away, too, focusing on the final item in the package, a dark bundle of fabric. When he carefully unfolded it, it revealed itself to be a yukata of soft, dark blue fabric, stitched with an intricate koi fish pattern in shining silver thread that shimmered in the light of the candles.

Yuuri sat for long minutes silent, the garment pooling in his lap as he ran his fingers over the embroidery, trying to will away his tears. The yukata was so beautiful, but Yuuri hadn’t worn a yukata since he had left his home, and he wasn’t sure when he would next get a chance. It made him miss his family like a physical burning in his chest.

Victor and his father and watched him quietly as he unpacked his gift, but now, as the silence drew on, Victor slipped out of his chair and to Yuuri’s side, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Yuuri swallowed the emotion welling up in him and gave Victor a watery smile, gratefully letting his casual commentary about the fine quality of the fabric and the skill of the embroidery wash over him until he felt he had control of himself once more. Taking a deep breath, he squeezed Victor’s arm in return before carefully folding the yukata back up and stowing it away in the parcel.

Neither of the men commented on Yuuri’s reaction, smoothly picking up the conversation again and allowing Yuuri to join in when he was ready, and Yuuri was thankful.

Dinner, when it was served, was expectedly delicious, as was the cake, a decadent concoction of chocolate sponge, delicate apricot and light, sweet cream.

Yuuri gladly let the food distract him from his thoughts, and once the last crumb of his piece had been devoured and Yuuri set down his fork, he was feeling heavy and satisfied and ready to fall into bed.

The Earl seemed to have other plans, though, nodding to the footmen to clear the table, and little later the butler himself entered, carrying a bottle, followed closely by a footman with a tray on which sat three tall, narrow glasses.

“Some champagne to celebrate the occasion, I believe“, the Earl said, gesturing to the butler to pour.

Yuuri took his glass with a hesitant smile.

It wasn‘t his first time drinking champagne, though he suspected he‘d probably never had one as fine as this one. He didn‘t particularly care for the taste, but it was an easy drink to sip without thinking about it.

This one, he was sure, was the kind of champagne one was supposed to think about as you drank it.

Once they had all been handed their drinks and the servants had retreated, the Earl rose from his seat, Victor and Yuuri quickly rising along with him.

Yuuri felt heat suffusing his cheeks under the keen attention of both men looking at him, and dipped his head, staring at the table.

“I feel I should say a few words on this day of your anniversary, Yuuri“, the Earl began in his calm, soothing baritone voice. “We have had the privilege of your company for many years now in this household. I have watched you grow up along with my own son, I have watched you thrive and strive for things that were formerly beyond your reach. I think I speak for Victor too when I say that our life in this big mansion all by ourselves has been enriched by having you in it. Your kind nature, your insight, your talent. You have become very nearly part of our family, and seeing you grow up into this self-possessed young man that you now are, I feel very proud.“

Both Nikiforovs smiled at him then, a mirror image of each other, both with the same gleaming silver hair, the same sparkling blue eyes, the same mouth tilted into the same smile, in spite of their difference in age and style.

Yuuri felt a lump forming in his throat once more under their fond gazes, threatening to dissolve into hot tears. He swallowed against it.

“You were remarkable as a child, astounding as a youth in your discipline and skill. You are no longer a child now; you have entered adulthood, and I, for one, cannot wait to see all the things you are yet to become. To you, Yuuri.“

With this, the Earl raised his glass, Victor mirroring him with an enthusiastic “Hear, hear!“

Yuuri too lifted his glass a fraction, blinking rapidly and giving both of them a deep nod, sure that embarrassment must be colouring his cheeks. Then he took a long gulp of his champagne, letting the bubbles burst on his tongue and trying to chase away the bitter thought that he couldn‘t remember the last time he had felt like a child.

* * *

The rush of applause was heady.

An intoxicating feeling, being bathed in the gazes of hundreds of people, all of their enthusiasm directed at him.

Well… not solely at him. Not even mainly at him, Yuuri knew. Most of the applause that washed over the stage was of course aimed at the principals who had braved their solos with grace, but even as only an insignificant ensemble dancer, Yuuri felt aglow with the knowledge that he had helped create the emotions that were now humming throughout the theatre.

It was his first role in a ballet that wasn’t put on by the Academy itself, a small part in a small company. Just an opportunity to dip his toes into the pond of the professional dance world while he finished up his last year of training, but nonetheless it was terrifying and exhilarating, the most amazing and the most unsettling thing Yuuri had ever felt.

In the harsh glare of the lights in the theatre he couldn’t see much of the audience, but their applause was still pouring on stage with undiminished enthusiasm, and Yuuri felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction settle into his core. He took one final bow along with the rest of the ensemble before they hurried off stage, leaving the principals to follow after them just a few moments later.

As soon as they were out of sight, the group devolved from their upright, dignified steps into a tangle of hugs, exhilarated laughter and whispered congratulations, pats on the back. For once, Yuuri let himself get caught up in the flow of it, hugging back and laughing along with them. Joy and relief buoying him, he felt like his feet were barely touching the floor.

An hour later he was washed and dressed in a simple suit, his hair released from its tight, strict bun to flow in a plain braid down his back. A champagne glass in his hand he was mingling in the theatre’s reception room along with the rest of the troupe and crew, sponsors, patrons, guests of honour and various family and friends, celebrating a successful opening night.

It was a large crowd and the buzzing of countless voices prickled a little on Yuuri’s skin, but for now he was still letting himself be carried on the thrill of the performance. Taking small sips of his drink, he looked around for familiar faces.

There were his fellow dancers of course, sharing little conspiratorial smiles with him whenever he caught their eyes, all of them still high on the music and the movement. He also knew Madame Baranovskaya and a couple other teachers from the Academy were around somewhere, though he had yet to find them. As was Earl Nikiforov, a prominent sponsor of the theatre, though to Yuuri’s disappointment Victor had not been able to join him for the premiere. He tried not to dwell on it, knowing that Victor would make up for it the soonest he was able.

Yuuri took another turn about the room, keeping an idle eye out for the Earl, but otherwise content to just weave between the guests and listen to their raving praises of the show.

He knew his own part in the premiere’s success had been a small one, insignificant almost, paling in comparison to the hard work of the principals and the innovation and talent of the choreographers, but nonetheless he allowed himself to bask in the feeling of having been part of something special.

One or two people here and there even recognised him as one of the dancers and gave him a friendly nod or offered congratulations in passing. Yuuri acknowledged them with what he hoped was a gracious smile, then moved on, until someone actually stopped him to talk to him.

A middle aged man crossed Yuuri’s path, his eyes gliding over him at first, then gliding back for a double take.

“Ah”, he said, stopping in his step, “you’re of the ensemble, are you not?”

“I am”, Yuuri replied with a smile.

The man’s pale eyes were sharp under thick eyebrows, trained on his face. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance before. I’ve been supporting this company for more than ten years, and I never forget a dancer.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. My name is Yuuri Katsuki.” Yuuri tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’m only with the company for this production. My first role. I’m still finishing up my studies at the Baranovskaya Academy.”

“I see”, the man said, his eyes lighting up with some recognition, and he gave Yuuri a slow once-over, lips curling. “Very nice. You did a good job out there.”

Yuuri felt his smile turn a little strained, hoping that it didn’t show. “Thank you, sir”, he said.

“You’re in your last year then, I assume?”

“I am. I graduate in the summer.”

“Lovely.” The man nodded. “I look forward to seeing a lot more of you in the future, then, Yuuri.”

Yuuri carefully returned his nod. “Thank you for your support, sir.”

Holding out his hand in a chivalrous gesture, the man indicated for Yuuri to continue on his way first, so Yuuri gave him another weak smile and edged past him in the crowd of people.

A hand giving his bum a firm pat as he walked past made Yuuri flinch, just for a moment, before he held his breath and hurried on, careful not to release it as a sigh until he was well out of reach of the man. Swallowing against his suddenly dry throat, he took another large gulp of his champagne.

It proved not to remain the only incident of the sort this evening.

There was the woman who asked him all kind of very detailed questions about “those very, very tight costumes you wear up there”, passing it off like it was the biggest mystery she had ever encountered in her life. Were they uncomfortable to wear? Weren’t they cold, the fabric looking so thin, showing off every movement of muscle underneath? And then those downright scandalous bulges on all the male dancers… Her fingers kept skimming along his hips, his thighs, her thumb pressing into the crease of his groin as he gave her the most polite explanation of a dancer’s belt that he could muster.

There was the man who kept running Yuuri’s braid through his fingers, holding on just tight enough that Yuuri wasn’t sure he would let go if he tried to step away, while he murmured to Yuuri, leaning so close that Yuuri could smell his wine breath, about all the passion and excitement watching the ballet always lit in him. Asking if Yuuri felt that same passion and excitement when he was on stage. If it was a thrill to dance before so many. If he liked people watching him.

There was the woman who pulled him into her embrace like they were old friends as soon as she spotted him, pressing lingering kisses to both of his cheeks before pulling him along into a group of her friends, presenting him like a new treasure. Five tittering women gathered around him, they then continued to expound to him in great detail all the beauty of his bodies that they seemed to have discussed before extensively, hands all the while touching his arms, his waist, his chest, his neck, his ass.

Throughout all of it Yuuri did his best to deflect, excuse, and retreat, all the dubious skills he had picked up in all those parties over the last few years. He accepted compliments with a smile, no matter how inappropriate, laughed off innuendos and made light of anything that got too serious with a jest, carefully memorised for many occasions. He never flinched away from touches, though he sometimes redirected them to more innocent places, and he never returned any touches of his own. He never made any promises, never answered anything with a clear yes or no.

It was exhausting and left his skin crawling after a while, all the elation of a show well done long since worn off. But at least no one had been insulted or offended, no one had felt rejected.

At the same time, though, this was different than the usual parties he was taken to. It felt different.

None of the people he had talked to were even close to his own age, and all of them were important in some way or another. At least at the gatherings that Victor took him to, Yuuri had learnt, few people were really bothered by a friendly rejection. Sure, some were more insistent than others, some would lash out with their words, defending their hurt pride. But Yuuri had learnt how to deal with these.

Here, though… he had a distinct feeling it would not go over well if he were to outright reject any of the more explicit offers he had gotten throughout the night.

It was a relief when Yuuri finally spotted the Earl—a friendly face at least among all of the strangers.

When the Earl spotted him in return, a wide smile spread on his face, followed in short order by the wide spread of his arms as he invited Yuuri over to his group.

“Yuuri!”, he exclaimed, almost boisterous, unusual for a man who was usually so serious, “The man of the hour!”

Yuuri dipped into a bow to him and the others around him as he approached.

“Hardly, my lord”, he said, “I’m sure that honour must go to the principals and the people who made this production possible.”

“Ahh, still so humble.” The Earl clapped him heartily on the back. “As I always tell you, my lad, don’t question the praise, just accept it. You were fantastic out there, congratulations on an excellent premiere.”

There were assenting murmurs and nods all around, and Yuuri went through the usual forms. A smile, demure but sincere, a dip of his head, a soft word of thanks.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the show, my lord”, he said, “thank you for your support. I would have never gotten here without you.”

“Ahh”, the Earl waved his words away, “let us not talk about me. This is your night, Yuuri. Celebrate yourself tonight. You deserve it.”

Yuuri gave him another smile, which was returned with a grin.

“Well, me and the old folks will talk business a little while longer”, the Earl said, gesturing to the group around him, “so feel free to go off and enjoy yourself with your fellows. Don’t let us bore you. Just come and find me when you’re ready to go home.”

Yuuri looked up at Earl Nikiforov’s kindly face, the smile lines around his eyes, his silver hair streaked with true grey, but still looking so much like his son, and he made a decision. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward a little more.

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment”, he said, lowering his voice, “ask your advice about something.”

The Earl raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he nodded and, making his excuses to his companions, led Yuuri off to the side, to a somewhat less crowded corner of the room.

“What is it, Yuuri?”, he asked, voice low and peering at him with concern, “Is there any trouble?”

Yuuri lifted his shoulders, tucking his head between them. “No. I mean, I don’t know”, he murmured. “It’s just… this is new for me, and there are some things I’m not quite sure how to handle.”

“Alright.” The Earl nodded his understanding. “What did you want to know?”

“Well…“, Yuuri cleared his throat, trying to steel himself for what he was about to say. “It‘s just that… a lot of people here have been wanting to talk to me and they‘ve been very… _friendly_ and—I‘m just not sure how to deal with that.“

The Earl gave him a bemused look.

“I just told you Yuuri. Just accept their compliments, be gracious, say thank you. I know you know this by now.“

“No, that‘s not…“, with a sigh, Yuuri ran a hand down his face, trying to collect himself. “That‘s not what I mean. I mean…“ He felt the heat rising into his cheeks, but he forced himself to keep talking, voice strained. “Some of the guests have been making certain suggestions, or… maybe propositions, I should say. To me. And considering their positions, I have a feeling it would be… unwise for me to reject them. I was hoping you would have some advice for me.“

To Yuuri‘s surprise, the Earl broke out into laughter.

“That‘s what this is about? Oh, my boy…“, a large hand landed on Yuuri‘s shoulder, presumably meant to be reassuring. “There is nothing wrong with a few dalliances for a lad your age, no need to worry about that. Go off and have a bit of fun. You‘re grown up now, I won‘t keep you.“

Yuuri stared at him, for a moment speechless. “No, but I—“, he stammered, “I don‘t—… I don‘t—“

The Earl waved his words away before he could even finish the sentence.

„Don‘t worry about that now. Just go and do what comes natural. You‘ll catch on in no time. Just be careful when it comes to the younger ladies, yes? We don‘t want any unexpected complications, no?“

Yuuri made a pained noise in his throat. Scraping together the last of his courage, he decided to just go all out.

“But what if I… don‘t want to go with them?“

The Earl‘s eyes softened a little at his words, and for a moment, Yuuri allowed himself to hope. Then a mischievous smile appeared on his lips.

“Well, I‘m sure a handsome lad like you can afford to be choosy. You can take your pick, and make your excuses to the others. It always helps when you‘re already spoken for. It will just make the rest of them even more eager, you know?“

The Earl winked at him then, and Yuuri felt like he was going to be sick.

“I see“, he said, voice hollow, the fight draining out of him. “Thank you for your advice.“

“Don‘t mention it. You‘ll get the hang of it soon, you‘ll see. Now go off and enjoy yourself, yes?“

Yuuri merely nodded, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth, and the Earl turned away with a final clap on his shoulder, returning to his previous group.

Yuuri took a few deep breaths, trying to fight down the nausea roiling in his stomach, before he too went off in search of another drink.

He didn‘t get far before there was an arm thrown over his shoulder and a voice close to his ear.

“There you are! You got away from me earlier, cheeky boy. Have you had time to think about my offer, then? I’m sure we can have a lot of fun together.“

* * *

As it turned out, the Earl had been right about one thing at least.

In this, too, Yuuri quickly learnt all the right things to do, all the right words to say, all the little indications and veiled hints the people in this corner of society used.

He learnt to pick and choose his inevitable bed partners, not only for their attractiveness and sympathies. By necessity he also learnt quickly to discern the sharp gazes and harsh touches, the demanding words that indicated someone was not looking for companionship for a night, but for something to play with. The ones who were not interested in sharing but in taking.

He learnt the right words and smiles to placate the ones spurned; never offending, always leaving hope for the future, always an excuse at the tip of his tongue.

He learnt the ways to gently steer his partners away from the acts he didn’t want and towards the ones he could bear more easily, learnt how to encourage in them the belief that it had been what they wanted all along.

He learnt the right words and touches to leave them feeling treasured and special, when in reality Yuuri had no intention of ever letting them touch him again.

After a few nights paralysed with terror in a strange bed, he always took his leave quickly, those magic words on his lips—”I have rehearsals early in the morning”. The reminder of his dancing, his career, rarely failed to make them pliant, almost eager to release him back into his world of glamour and beauty and art—as they saw it in their minds. After all, to possess a piece of art only meant something if it could seen and envied by others.

They all fancied they possessed him.

Afterwards, if there was enough left of the night, he snuck back into the Nikiforov’s house, praying every time that Victor would not be up to catch him.

Other times, if there had been too many minutes and hours scattered between the sheets, he went straight to the Academy, and danced away the early morning until his classes began.

* * *

Victor had been looking forward to this event for weeks.

Not that it was a special event in itself—it’s just that it was his turn to host the regular parties he and his friends had taken to organising. Victor liked being able to invite them into his own home and provide them with the best food and drinks and music, spoil his friends a little. He liked receiving their compliments and, he didn’t mind admitting it, he liked being the centre of attention as host.

Most of all, however, he liked that with the event taking place at his own home, even Yuuri’s busy schedule would allow him to attend.

They were well into spring now, and what with Yuuri’s first roles with various ballet companies vying for his attention and hoping to sign him on after his rapidly approaching graduation, his schedule was busier than ever.

Victor felt like they had hardly seen each other for months, and he was looking forward to hopefully spend some time with him tonight.

Not that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the rest of his friends, of course, but he wouldn’t have suspected that the one who lived under the same roof as him would end up being the most elusive.

At this point, Victor almost felt like the rumour mill of the city knew more about Yuuri than he did himself—most of what he knew about how his budding career was going he had heard not from Yuuri himself but from the lips of some busybody or another.

Of course he made a point of attending the shows in which Yuuri had a role, multiple times if he could. But that didn’t give him any insight into how Yuuri’s name, along with a couple of his fellow students, was increasingly whispered about as one of the most sought after new dancers in the city. He knew that if Yuuri stayed on track until his graduation, he would be able to take his pick among almost all of the city’s most reputable ballet companies.

Today he hoped he would be able to hear more about it from Yuuri himself, more about how he was enjoying his first experiences in the ballet world.

Yuuri arrived late—there was no performance that night, but a late rehearsal after his classes had finished. So the party was already in full swing by the time he returned, the atmosphere lively enough that most people didn‘t notice him slipping inside the room.

He must have taken the time to change in his own quarters before he joined them, looking fetching in a dark blue waistcoat and his shirtsleeves, not particularly dressed up, but more formal and less rumpled than he was usually looking when he returned from rehearsals.

Excusing himself from Christophe with a wordless gesture and a look, Victor bounded over to him immediately, making his way through the crowd.

“Yuuri! You made it!“

His shout drew the attention of a handful of other guests now, following Victor‘s line of sight to look at Yuuri, who was already accepting a drink from one of the footmen. Giving Victor a quick smile, he downed the amber-coloured liquid with practised ease and had already indicated for another to the footman before Victor even reached him and drew him into an embrace.

“I‘m so happy to see you!“

He squeezed Yuuri tightly, and Yuuri‘s arms too came up to wrap around him, and his voice was low but amused in Victor‘s ear.

“You say that like you don‘t see me every day, Vitya.“

Victor grinned and shrugged as he pulled back.

“I know I do, but it‘s hardly enough these days, is it? Seeing you briefly at the breakfast table or for a night cap is really not the same. I feel like it‘s been forever that we really talked.“

“And were you hoping to remedy this tonight?“, Yuuri asked, indicating the crowd and the noise around them with a raised eyebrow, but he was smiling, too.

“Well…“, Victor looked around, “Come on, come on.“ He ushered Yuuri away, the footman reappearing just in time to hand Yuuri his second drink, and together they made their way through the crowd, back toward the armchairs in a quieter corner of the room, where Victor had just left Chris behind. The way many of his guests‘ gazes trailed after them on their way did not escape his notice.

His hand wrapped around Yuuri‘s elbow, he steered him toward one of the armchairs before letting him go and dropping into another one himself. The third was still occupied by Chris waiting for them.

“There!“ Victor released his breath in a satisfied sigh. “That‘s better, don‘t you think? At least here we can hear ourselves think.“

Yuuri nodded as he sunk down in his own chair, leaning back into the overstuffed cushions as he took another sip of his drink.

“You still remember Christophe, I‘m sure?“, Victor said, indicating his friend, who smiled at Yuuri and inclined his head in a mock bow.

“A pleasure as always to see that face of yours, Yuuri. And other parts as well, naturally.“

Yuuri flashed a quick smile at Chris.

“Ah, yes“, he said, voice soft-spoken as he still always was, turning his glass slowly in his hand, “I do think I vaguely recall having met the gentleman once or twice before.“

Chris‘s grin grew even wider, if such a thing was possible, but the offended tone of his voice could almost be believed. “Oh, you injure me, Mr. Katsuki! After all the drinks we‘ve taken together and all the dances we‘ve shared, to think that the fame and glory of the ballet would make you forget me so soon.“

“What can I say?“, Yuuri returned, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, “I have met so many more interesting people since I last saw you, someone like you is bound to be forgotten.“

Victor followed the exchange with wide eyes, noting that not even a hint of a smile was curving Yuuri‘s lips.

Chris clutched at his heart, a grimace of grave insult replacing his grin.

“I never knew you thought me so far beneath you.“

Yuuri looked up at him now, the light reflected from the gold liquid in his glass making his eyes spark.

“Oh? My sincerest apologies, my lord. I was under the impression that you rather enjoyed being underneath people.“

For a moment there was silence, and Victor found himself staring at Yuuri, mouth slack.

Then Christophe broke out in a roaring laugh.

After a moment, the surprise having passed, Victor couldn‘t help but join in, and Yuuri‘s lips, too, tilted up in a small smile.

“My, my“, Chris finally said, in between trying to catch his breath, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “I should have learnt by now not to underestimate you, sweet boy. How good to know that the things I‘ve been hearing about you have not been exaggerated.“

Yuuri went still for a moment, before raising his eyebrows in a wordless question.

Victor, too, turned his eyes on Chris, curious. “Oh? What have you been hearing about my Yuuri then? And how come you‘ve kept them to yourself and haven‘t shared them with me?“

Yuuri‘s eyes flickered over to him for a moment, but then Christophe huffed a laugh and they both turned their gazes on him.

“Oh, you know“, he said and gave Victor a meaningful grin that made the heat rise into his cheeks, “just that our sweet boy has rather grown up into a man.“

He turned his eyes back toward Yuuri, a little more intent now. “And you‘re not so sweet anymore either, are you?“

Yuuri just shrugged in response, seeming to prefer to seek an answer at the bottom of his glass.

Christophe, too, did not seem inclined to add anything more to his remarks, and so the three of them remained in silence momentarily. Victor, too, found himself out of things to say, too lost in his own thoughts as he kept a careful eye on this Yuuri that seemed so different from the one he knew.

It wasn‘t like Yuuri never spoke to him freely. Even though they didn‘t get to spend as much time together as they once did, they were still comfortable with each other. Well, perhaps not as comfortable in the last couple of years as they had once been, as they both changed, growing up and constantly redefining who they were.

But they were still comfortable, they were still close.

Still—or so Victor had thought—he knew Yuuri better than anyone else.

But he had never heard Yuuri speak like this, joke like this.

He knew Yuuri had a sense of humour, but when it was the two of them it had been something more subtle, something more considered than this.

This sharp wit was something unfamiliar to him.

He tried not to let it surprise him too much.

Of course Yuuri would develop other facets of his personality as he was around other people. Of course he wouldn‘t treat everyone the same as he treated Victor. This, Victor was quite sure, he didn’t want.

And Yuuri spent so much of his time now not just at the Academy surrounded by other students his age, students who were of his own station, around whom he didn‘t have to be so careful with his words as he had always been around nobility. He was also around a fair number of cultural and societal functions now, in his role as a dancer, and Victor had already found out years ago that if there was one thing that was appreciated in those circles in this day and age, more than beauty, more than wealth and status, it was wit.

Victor had learnt long ago how to keep up with the banter, the veiled allusions and the profound sounding witticisms. For some reason, he hadn’t considered up until now that Yuuri would have learnt, too.

Victor watched Yuuri carefully as he signalled to a footman for yet another drink (and that was another thing—when had Yuuri started to drink so easily? Victor still remembered him coughing around his first scotch and soda a couple of years ago), listened in quietly when Christophe struck up another conversation, one less fraught with tension this time.

He tried to read the set of Yuuri‘s shoulders, the tilt of his mouth, his gestures, but it was like they were a foreign language to him now. Once upon a time, Yuuri had been so easy to read, an open book. Now Victor couldn‘t even discern if Yuuri‘s mood was good or bad, if he was enjoying himself or if he‘d rather be anywhere else.

It made Victor shiver to see him like that, his Yuuri, who was so expressive, who felt so much, so deeply. He pushed to his feet, suddenly unable to bear it, making both men look up at him in surprise.

“Yuuri“, he said, giving him a smile that he hoped wasn‘t too strained. “Would you like to dance with me? You don‘t mind me stealing him for a bit, do you, Chris?“

Yuuri looked around the room, eyebrows raised, taking in the other guests milling about, sitting and standing in groups and pairs.

“Dance? But no one‘s dancing“, he said.

“Well“, Victor said, holding out his hand towards him, “then I think it‘s time we start, don‘t you?“

He pulled Yuuri to his feet, and Yuuri smiled then, a wide and bright thing, clear as Victor‘s mother tongue on his face.

“I‘d love to“, he said, “lead the way.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW** : This chapter contains sexual coercion and references to dubious consent/non-con.
> 
> Chapter 6 posts on Mar 11!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, consider leaving a comment! 🥰
> 
> Work title and chapter titles from the absolutely lovely [Porcelain by Skott](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DfTUs-s_XkI).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nihidea_art) and [tumblr](http://theliteraryluggage.tumblr.com/), and I also have a [discord server](https://discord.gg/Qfwp9XMTPg).  
> If you want Early Access to all my Angst Week Fics, I'm sure you know where to find it 💜💜💜


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